nevermore
by grey.menace
Summary: While investigating the disappearance of a hunter's daughter, Sam and Dean stumble upon a mysterious family of hunters, a haunted house, and a monster steeped in American legend.


A/N: This story is set sometime mid-season three. Admittedly, it's been a while since I watched the earlier seasons, so I apologize if I get anything wrong or out of character. But I wanted to go back to an earlier point in the show when it felt like Sam and Dean didn't know everything and there was still some mystery.

* * *

 _Investigators concluded the cause of death was an "unknown compelling force."_

 _-The Dyatlov Pass Incident_

Going through her dead sister's possessions was never something Carly Janson thought she would find herself doing. She had been called to some seedy motel in West Virginia two days ago. Someplace south of Point Pleasant. Both her sister, Miranda, and Carly's brother-in-law, Chase, had been discovered in a regional park. Dead. Carly needed to swallow every time she thought of it. Her baby sister was dead. Heart torn out of her chest. The same thing happened to Chase. Their last known location before their deaths was this motel where they never checked out.

Miranda's transient lifestyle didn't lend itself to having many belongings. That wasn't the real reason Carly was so eager to come collect her things anyway. It was Carly's niece, Dawn. There had to be some clue here as to where she went. As long as she focused on Dawn, then she wouldn't have to think about the grisly state of Miranda and Chase. What kind of animal ripped out a human heart?

Hidden in Miranda's Ford pickup were two suitcases filled with guns, ammunition, knives, and salt of all things. They were tucked away in a secret compartment the police had overlooked. Carly wasn't terribly surprised by this discovery. For years, she'd been begging her sister to settle down with her daughter—leave Chase if she had to. She'd even threatened to call CPS and take custody of Dawn. That was when Miranda picked up her family and moved across the country again. Now they were gone, and Dawn was missing.

She found Chase's binder of conspiracy theories and tall tales of sasquatch. Crazy bastard. A cursory look through Miranda's purse proved fruitless, but a second search through her wallet gave Carly a sliver of hope. There was a business card for someplace called The Shepherd Home for Wayward Sons and Daughters. That sounded like the kind of sketchy place Miranda would send her daughter.

There was no phone number or address. Carly crumpled the card. Useless.

She often wondered if it was her fault that her sister's life went so horribly wrong. After the brutal deaths of their parents, Miranda was never the same. Neither was Carly, but being the older of the two, it was her responsibility to get her shit together. However, it seemed no matter what she did, her little sister couldn't be pulled out of her tailspin. She was convinced that their parents were killed by a ghost. Carly did all she could to gently dissuade Miranda of this notion, and she was getting better for a while. Sure, it was a gradual process, but progress was progress nonetheless.

Then she met Chase Gellar.

There weren't words to describe how much Carly hated Chase. When he came into the picture, all of Miranda's hard won progress was derailed. He convinced her that ghosts were real. That vampires and werewolves were real. Once, he even had the gall to tell Carly that they were going demon hunting. _Demon_ hunting. It was bad enough that he dragged Miranda into that life, but then they had Dawn.

No child deserved to grow up out of motel rooms. No child deserved that insane amount of instability. At that point, Carly had all but written Miranda off as a lost cause, but there was still hope for Dawn. If she couldn't save her sister, then she would save her niece if it was the last thing she did.

But there was no sign of Dawn scattered in the remnants of Miranda's and Chase's lives.

She found an address book belonging to Chase. Really, an address book? She knew neither of them had normal cell phones—Miranda and her husband communicated using burners—but did he not even have email? Who, in this day and age, still wrote phone numbers and addresses in a little notebook? Carly shook her head. Now of all times, she should not be critical of Chase's Luddite tendencies. This would make it easy to contact everyone he knew and ask them if they'd seen Dawn.

First on the list, somebody by the name of Bobby Singer.

* * *

"Remind me how tracking down a missing kid is suddenly our job."

Sam sighed from the passenger seat. "Her name's Dawn Gellar. Her parents were hunters. According to Bobby, they went after a werewolf in West Virginia before a park ranger found them both dead. Now Dawn is nowhere to be found, and her aunt is looking for her."

"Yeah, and it sounds like the werewolf got away. Shouldn't we gank the monster instead of playing a statewide game of hide and seek?"

The situation was slightly more complicated than Dean made it seem. When Bobby had briefed Sam, he made it clear that Carly Janson was not to go looking for her niece. The Shepherd Home for Wayward Sons and Daughters was a safe house for hunters' kids under the guise of a reformatory foster home. If you were going on a dangerous hunt and needed someplace for your kids to wait for you, then Alice Shepherd was the woman to see. If a hunter died and left no relatives to take in their child, Alice Shepherd was known to care for orphans as well. When Sam asked why John never left him and Dean there, Bobby just laughed. There weren't many people John Winchester trusted, and apparently Alice Shepherd wasn't one of them.

Bobby stressed how very important it was that Carly Janson not look too closely into the Shepherd Home, or worse, get authorities involved. There were all kinds of weapons and artifacts at the residence. According to Bobby, both sides of the Shepherd family had been involved in the life for generations, and they had accumulated quite the collection.

Dean hadn't been present for most of this conversation. And the weird thing was, Bobby acted as though he was actively trying to keep him out of the loop. When Sam pointed this out, Bobby gave him a look. "They've got a library that you would drool over," her said. Sam raised an eyebrow. Was that supposed to clear anything up for him? Bobby rolled his eyes. "You idjit, do I have to spell it out? If anybody wrote so much as a footnote about ditching a crossroads deal, you can bet your ass you'll find it in their library."

Once they found Dawn Gellar and reunited her with her aunt, he would hopefully be able to peruse the Shepherds' books on demon lore. Dean might have lost hope, but Sam wasn't ready to give up.

"Bobby said that there are already a pair of hunters in the area that were taking care of the werewolf," he told Dean. "A brother-sister duo. Now they just need someone to find the girl before the real Child Protective Services gets involved."

* * *

"You two are with CPS?" Carly Janson eyed the brothers skeptically. They were down in the lobby of the Marriott Hotel Carly was staying at. She'd offered them two cups of murky coffee from the machine in the small dining area which Sam had no trouble politely declining. Dean was less polite. Driving all the way to West Virginia without working a known werewolf case was making his responses clipped and slightly churlish. He gave her a just barely polite smile that didn't reach anywhere near his eyes.

"FBI, technically," he replied.

"But we've worked these sorts of cases before," Sam reassured her. "We know of the Shepherd Home. All we need from you are a few details."

Carly's eyes lit up. "You've heard of this Shepherd Home? Oh, thank God! Every local cop I've talked to has no idea what that place is or where it might be. I can't even find it online. What kind of a place is it? When can I get Dawn?"

He and Dean exchanged a look. "It's a children's home of sorts," he answered vaguely. "Not far from here. Farther northeast."

"And Dawn?" Carly prompted impatiently.

Dean's smile looked more like a grimace. "We'll find your niece and get her back to you." Her eyes narrowed on him. This was a woman who had been brushed off at every turn. She was clearly tired and worried, and she wasn't taking kindly to Dean's patronizing attitude. Before the situation could devolve, Sam stepped in.

He offered her a card with one of his phone numbers printed on it. "Miss Janson, we don't believe that Dawn is in any danger. We're going to ask you to let us handle this situation for the time being. We'll keep you updated, and if you have any questions, feel free to contact us. In the meantime, it would be best if you went back to your home and let us bring Dawn to you."

Accepting the card, she stared down at it. The way her shoulders bent forward, Carly no longer resembled some unstoppable force of nature. She looked sad and scared. "Okay," she relented. "I can do that. What details do you need from me?"

"How old is Dawn?" Sam asked.

"She's thirteen. Her birthday is in November."

He nodded, scrawling it down on a notepad. "Do you have a recent photo we can see?" In response, Carly took out her wallet and pulled out three pictures, passing them to Sam.

"I took this one the last time I saw her. That was about eight months ago."

The girl in the picture was sitting on a tire swing. She had brown hair that almost reached her waist. Her arms and legs were long and a bit gangly, like she hadn't quite grown into them yet. A smile beamed from her face, leaving no clues to the messed-up childhood a life of hunting inflicted. At least she wouldn't have to continue growing up that way. Dawn had an aunt, obviously very loving and devoted, who would take her home and give her the chance to be a normal teenager. If anything good came out of the deaths of her parents, it was that.

Dean cleared his throat, pulling Sam back to the present. He returned the pictures to Carly. "Thanks," said Dean, "we'll be in touch."

* * *

Lenore Shepherd was no stranger to the weird and unconventional. Her paternal grandparents were hunters, and so was her father's grandfather. The hunters on her mother's side of the family spanned back even more generations. Weird and unconventional were the nicest words to describe her mom's family. One of the less nice descriptors was bat-shit crazy. Alice Shepherd once told her, "You can't have that many people immersed in the supernatural for that many years and not expect them to go a little wackadoodle."

That was why they lived in a tiny no-name town in the middle of nowhere West Virginia. Because the Shepherds were wackadoodle, and nobody wanted to put their crazy family on display in front of a huge audience. Not to mention, Lenore herself wasn't immune to the Shepherds' eccentricities.

"You're doing it again."

Lenore shooed her errant thoughts away like an irksome fly. She glanced down at her traveling companion, Henry. The twelve-year-old boy often joined her on her walks through and around town. "Doing what?" she asked.

"Thinking too much," he answered. "You do that all the time anyway. Isn't the point of these walks _not_ to think?"

Well, he was half right. She went on walks to escape Alice and all of the hunter's kids in the house for half an hour. And there wasn't much point escaping them physically if she couldn't escape them in her mind.

They came up to a bench where Lenore stopped. It was time for a rest. She locked the brakes on the wheelchair she'd been pushing and then sat on the bench next to Henry. Even though the wheelchair wasn't going anywhere now that the brakes were engaged, Lenore still kept one hand on it. Henry watched her curiously.

"You know I don't need that anymore, right?"

The handle of the chair was cold against her palm. No, Henry didn't need his wheelchair anymore, but Lenore didn't have the heart to retire it to the basement. She had fun memories of wheeling him down the walking path by her house. She knew it looked odd, pushing around an empty wheelchair. But if she gave it up, the people in town would find another reason to think her odd. In which case, why cater to them?

"I only say that," Henry added, "because I think people have started to notice."

Yes, people stared, especially the ones who were just rolling through town. At the moment, there were two men, in their early to mid-twenties perhaps, shooting subtle but curious looks at her. As they exited a black Chevy Impala, Lenore noted that they wore dark, official looking suits.

"Let them stare," she said with a smile. "They'll be gone by tomorrow." She took a peek at him from the corner of her eye. Henry was a cute kid. He still had that adolescent boyishness to his features. His brown hair had been poorly trimmed by her. Lenore got shaky hands whenever one of the kids needed a haircut, and in an effort not to give him a bald spot, she had left his hair a little too long rather too short. His brown eyes had a depth to them that most kids his age didn't have. They were compassionate and understanding, despite his circumstances.

She nudged him playfully with her elbow.

"So, what have you been up to while I've been playing domestic politics with my mother?"

He shrugged. "Not much. I've been running around a lot since my legs got better. It makes playing in the garden with Hilly and Tabatha easier." In an instant, Lenore's tongue went dry. It was impossible to swallow.

"You play with Hilly and Tabatha?"

"Sure," he said simply. "They're lots of fun. Well, when Hilly's not sad and when Tabatha's not angry."

Lenore suddenly felt lightheaded. She forced herself to stand, ignoring the twinge in her bad knee. "Hey, Henry. Maybe we should start heading home."

"All right." He hopped up from the bench without making any sort of fuss. "It's your walk."

She unlocked the brakes and pushed the wheelchair in front of her. Turning around, they had to pass the two men in suits. They remained standing by their car, seemingly in deep discussion with each other. Walking away, Lenore caught the tail end of their conversation. "Now there's a brand of crazy they don't make anymore," one commented.

Henry frowned and looked over his shoulder. "Are they talking about us?"

Lenore sighed. "They usually are."

* * *

The winding road to the Shepherd Home cut through mounds of land that were too big to really be considered hills but not big enough to be mountains. Every time Dean thought the terrain had to change soon, they would round the bend to see more hills. By the time the road finally spat them into this podunk, Dean felt ready to shoot something.

He pulled Baby into a lot facing a small park. "Okay, here's the plan," he said as they got out of the car. "We find a place to get lunch. Then we follow Bobby's directions to this safe house. We grab the little girl and dump her in her aunt's lap. Then we track down that werewolf."

Sam made a bitch face at him. "Dean, there are already people on the werewolf case. There's no rush to get back to that regional park."

Frowning, he studied his brother over the top of the car. "What's with you?" Dean demanded. "If this is so important, then why not let someone closer take care of it, like that brother-sister pair? It sounded like they were only a state away when Bobby got the call." He crossed his arms. "Is there some other reason you wanted to take this case?"

Sam shrugged and shook his head, the look on his face just a bit too innocent to be genuine. "Bobby thought we'd be better equipped," he replied. "You know, not every hunter can successfully impersonate federal agents."

That was a weak explanation, but Dean could tell that Sam wasn't going to give up whatever secret he was keeping yet. "Whatever," he grumbled. His stomach chose that moment to voice its complaints. "Let's go find the greasiest diner in this joint."

Turning to lock the car, he spotted a young woman walking down the sidewalk. Her shoulders were hunched, and she was speaking softly, hiding behind a curtain of dark hair as she pushed a wheelchair in front of her. Only the wheelchair was empty. She was alone, apparently speaking to no one. He waited until she had passed them and then raised a bemused eyebrow at Sam.

"Now there's a brand of crazy they don't make anymore."

Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Dean."

"Yeah, yeah. All right, let's go. No need to get your panties in a twist."

* * *

It was easy for Sam to see that Dean resented being here, and he had an inkling as to the reason. Dean was more or less resigned to his fate. As time went by, and there was no new information on getting him out of his crossroads deal, Dean's attitude began to change. Sam knew him well enough to see where his thoughts were headed. Dean was the type of guy that would rather go out with a gun in his hand rather than babysitting a thirteen-year-old girl. Sam wasn't ready to throw in the towel, though. If his brother wanted to be a fatalist, then so be it. Sam was going to hold out hope.

He hung up the phone and tucked it in his pocket. "Bobby says Alice Shepherd is about as trusting of other people as Dad was. He asked around and said that the passphrase she's been using recently is 'an, unknown compelling force.' That will be the fastest way to convince her we're friends. If Alice isn't home, Bobby said she has a daughter named Lenore who helps her run the house."

"Awesome." It was the most Dean had said since they left town ten minutes ago.

They followed the country road a while longer until they reached Cold Creek Lane where Dean turned right per Bobby's directions. Though it appeared to be another rural road, Bobby had warned them that it was actually a long driveway leading up to the Shepherd Home.

Another minute and they were pulling up in front of a huge, white house. It looked like it was from the colonial era. It had seen some wear and tear over the decades, but it still held a historical elegance. Just from the exterior, Sam thought the Shepherds certainly had the space to house a handful of children.

Dean cut the engine and muttered, "Let's get this over with."

Outside of the Impala, Sam had an unobstructed view of the place. He couldn't help admiring it. He imagined that it wouldn't have been such a terrible thing if their dad had left them here for a week or two.

Dean marched right up to the front door and didn't hesitate to pound his fist on it. Sam sighed, frustrated. "Can you at least try not to piss off Alice Shepherd? This will go a lot smoother if she doesn't think we're asshats."

"I make no promises," he replied with a smirk.

After a few seconds and no answer, Dean rapped on the door again. No response. Sam stepped back to peer through the windows at ground level. He couldn't see any movement inside.

"Hello?" Dean shouted. "Anybody home?"

A footstep directly behind them caused both to jump and reach for their guns. Whirling around, Sam saw the young woman from the park. She was dressed in jeans and a dark green sweater. Her brown hair was several shades darker than his and quite effective at shielding most of her face. He scanned the area, trying to ascertain where she had come. The only possibility he could see was that she must have been around the side of the house and then crept up behind them. He was impressed. Anyone who could sneak up on both him and Dean had to be walking on air.

It didn't appear that she was armed. Sam cleared his throat and motioned for Dean to put his gun away. Grudgingly, he complied, though he still seemed wary of her.

"You looking for somebody?" she asked. The one gray eye not covered by her hair darted between the two brothers.

"Yeah, we are," he said. "Alice Shepherd. Do you live here?"

She nodded. "Yep. I'm a brand of crazy they don't make anymore."

Whatever prayer they had at a good first impression flew out the window. Sam glared daggers at his brother who winced. "Ah, so you heard that."

"Mhm." From the bottom of the porch steps, she had to reach up to extend her hand to them. "I'm Lenore Shepherd." Sam's heart sank again. So much for not pissing off the people running this place.

"Of course you are." Dean's smile was strained as he shook her hand. "Because that's just my luck."

Lenore Shepherd offered her hand to Sam next. Her grip was surprisingly strong for such a small person. And the way she looked at him with that one gray eye sent a shiver down his spine. Releasing him, she edged between them to gain access to the front door. "What brings you two here?" She said as she fumbled with a key attached to a lanyard around her neck.

"A, uh, an unknown compelling force," Sam replied. He heard a click when the key finally caught the lock and allowed her to turn it. Her mouth ticked up at the corners.

"Okay, I get it," she said, amused. "You're hunters. But what brings you here?"

She pulled her key free and the door swung inward. If he thought the house looked large from the outside, then it was positively enormous on the inside. The foyer was open with a ceiling that arched over a spiral staircase. The color of the walls was light and airy reflecting the sunlight streaming through the windows.

As someone who spent the majority of his life hanging out in motel rooms, Sam was a little bit mesmerized. Dean was not affected the home's simple grandeur in the same way.

"We're looking for a girl named Dawn Gellar. Parents were hunters named Chase and Miranda. You heard of them?"

Lenore stood aside to let them in, though she now sported a frown. She closed the door behind them. "That's not the kind of thing we tell just anyone. We're only allowed to give out information about kids to very specific people." Sam saw his brother's jaw tick.

"Look, Lenore. You seem smart, so I'll lay out how this thing is going to go down. Miranda and Chase? They're dead as doornails, and Sam and I are the unlucky bastards who have to collect their daughter. Option number one is you bring the girl to us, and then we all go our separate ways and never have to see each other again. Option number two involves you telling us to hit the road without giving us the kid, and then my brother and I hand over your exact location to Dawn's overprotective, civilian aunt. Then that woman will rain down a media firestorm all over this place until she gets her niece back." Dean smiled. "Now personally, I don't care which option you choose. Either way, it means Sam and I can move on to more important things."

Overtly threatening wasn't the way Sam wanted this encounter to go. Threatened homeowners weren't likely to allow him the use of their library. Where a minute ago, Lenore had only been noncompliant, now her features hardened into a familiar expression. It was the sort of look he'd seen on the faces of other hunters when they stood toe-to-toe with something they knew would probably kill them but went after it anyway. Why was it that every hunter seemed to carry the insanely stubborn gene?

"Why don't you two go wait in the parlor?" She said flatly, gesturing to their right. "I'll see if I can find my mother."

Her steely eyes lingered on them, brewing a sour feeling in his stomach. Taking her time, Lenore moved to the staircase and began to ascend. It wasn't until she started climbing the steps that Sam noted a slight limp to her gait.

He followed his brother through an arched doorway and into the Shepherds' parlor. Everything looked prim and proper, the sort of room reserved for entertaining guests. It was designed to impress. Dean flopped down onto the sofa in front of an antique coffee table. He let out a grunt of pain when he landed. "There's not a whole lot of give to these cushions," he complained.

Sam crossed his arms. "It's meant to look nice, not to be comfortable."

"Why would anyone do that?" he muttered, rubbing his tailbone. Sam's frown deepened. "Geez, Sammy. What crawled up your ass and died?"

"Would it kill you to take this a little more seriously?"

Dean snorted. "What's the point? This isn't a case. We're playing chauffeur to a thirteen-year-old."

"Whose parents just died," Sam reminded him.

"So I'll be the hard ass, and you'll give her a shoulder to cry on." There was a finality to his tone that clearly conveyed he was done discussing this. Sam shook his head. He couldn't come out and say the other reason he needed Dean to behave. The fastest way to make him frustrated and angry was clinging to what Dean considered false hope.

To pass the time, Sam walked the perimeter of the room. This house was probably an historic landmark. It reminded him of an 18th century manor—a structure that put down roots decades ago. Everything in the parlor appeared to be antique. He couldn't imagine what this room alone was worth, much less the entire estate. Alice Shepherd had done well preserving her family's home. The only signs of its age were the occasional scuff marks on the floor and several places where the wallpaper was starting to peel. One of these places in particular caught his eye.

Sam pressed his thumb to the corner of the wallpaper, pulling it back. There was something etched into the wall under it. It didn't appear to be a notch made accidentally. The downward swoop and the smooth curve of the line were very deliberate. "Hey, Dean. Come look at this."

He heard Dean grunt pulling himself up from the stiff sofa. Sam held the corner of wallpaper back for him to see. Dean squinted at the mark. "What is that?"

"Not sure." Sam could see his brother sorting through all the different sigils he had filed away in his memory. He could think of all kinds of protective sigils a hunter might carve into a wall at their home base. Sam craned his neck to look at the ceiling, wondering what other protective measures might be hidden.

"Hello, boys."

Both Sam and Dean turned quickly. Lenore was back, and with her was a smiling woman. She walked in moccasins and loose-fitting jeans. A dark blue blouse was tucked into her waistband, showing off her figure. The woman's deep brown hair was twisted and clipped to the back of her head. The only sign of her age was the crow's feet around her eyes. She bore only a passing resemblance to Lenore.

"I'm Alice Shepherd," she said as she crossed the room, gliding silently in her moccasins. She offered her hand first to Dean.

The smile he plastered on his face was slightly less artificial this time. Internally, Sam groaned. "Dean Winchester," he said, "and this is my brother Sam." It was Sam's turn to force a smile.

"Winchester, huh?" Alice regarded them with an, admittedly, dazzling smile. "Would you be John Winchester's sons?"

"Uh, yeah." He couldn't disguise the surprise in his voice. "I didn't think you knew our dad."

"Oh, I didn't. But John and my husband worked a few jobs together way back in the day." She sat on the uncomfortable sofa, gesturing for Sam and Dean to join her. "Now what's this I hear about Dawn Gellar?"

Suddenly, Dean was eager to explain their situation. Not only was he polite, but he suavely flirted his way through the conversation. It was gag-worthy. Glancing around the room in an attempt to ignore what was transpiring, Sam noticed that, at some point, Lenore had disappeared. There was something odd about that girl, and he couldn't pinpoint what it was. He didn't believe she was another prodigy of Yellow Eyes. Lenore didn't seem to have any inhuman abilities, just an uncanny ability to rattle his nerves.

"Ah, I see."

Sam reeled himself back into the discussion about Dawn. Alice was nodding.

"Well, of course we can arrange for Dawn to leave with you. We'll just need to make a call to her aunt, verifying she's given you and your brother permission, and then you can be on your way." She laughed pleasantly. It reminded Sam of wind chimes. "You'll have to excuse my daughter for your less than warm reception. Strangers make her nervous."

"Don't worry about it," said Dean. "She's a cute kid."

Sam rolled his eyes. Lenore was definitely in her twenties, probably closer to his age. Well past the age of being called a 'cute kid', that was for sure. Alice appeared charmed by his brother, though. She laughed again and placed her hand on his arm.

"Social skills aside, Lenore is a huge help around here. Now boys, why don't we make that phone call to Ms. Janson, and then we can see where Dawn's gotten to today."

* * *

A sick feeling settled in the pit of Lenore's stomach. She stood by the banister on the second floor right above the entrance to the parlor. She listened to her mom's response. The stalling tactics had already begun—forcing the Winchesters to call Dawn's aunt. Lenore had no doubt that Alice would pose a dozen tough-to-answer questions to Ms. Janson all under the guise of being safe and responsible. She'd also primed the brothers to wait even longer by insinuating that Dawn might be difficult to locate in the large house.

She backed away from the banister as her mom led the men out of the parlor and across the foyer, heading toward the kitchen.

"Let me get you something to drink while I track down a phone."

Swallowing and attempting to calm her shaking hands, Lenore retreated to the shadows of the corridor where the children's bedrooms resided. Soon, she heard the distinct sound of footsteps climbing the stairs. There was no reason Alice couldn't find a landline on the first floor. She was coming for Lenore.

It didn't take Alice long to spot her daughter once she reached the landing. She flew at Lenore, swooping down and chasing her further into the dark hallway. "Have you found the girl, yet?" she hissed. Lenore clenched her teeth to keep herself from flinching.

"No." She bit the word off at the end of the syllable. "But a one-man search party doesn't move very fast."

"I said you could call those idiot Danvers twins!"

"They were on their way here but got called off to work a werewolf case a few hours south. A case they took since I wasn't allowed to make this sound like an emergency." Lenore remained straight-faced under the deluge of her mom's muttered profanity. Then, just like Lenore, Alice squared her jaw and her eyes hardened. It was the only time they ever looked alike.

"Well, our timetable just got bumped up, so we'll have to make do. I can keep them busy until dinner before they start asking questions. You have five hours to find Dawn before all hell breaks loose."

Alice snatched the phone from the hall table, and then marched back down to the kitchen. Lenore chewed on her lower lip, peeling skin off with her teeth. Why had Dawn run away? Lenore had done her best to assure the girl that she was safe here. As long as someone was coming back for her, then she was safe.

* * *

Kirby and Lucas Danvers were regulars at the Shepherd Home for most of their childhoods. Years ago, when they were teenagers, Kirby and Lenore were best friends—or as close to best friends as Lenore was capable of being. Kirby didn't seem to mind that Lenore kept her at arm's length. It was merely a characteristic that she accepted.

"There's no room for me in your comfort zone, and I'm okay with that. I mean, you barely have room for yourself in your comfort zone."

Lenore frowned but didn't refute the claim.

They sat outside in the garden. It was the kind of day where Kirby would eventually convince Lenore to venture down to the creek where they could go wading. Then Lenore would gather as many of the kids as she could to join them.

Lenore's comfort zone couldn't be very large. It just wasn't feasible. "We come from families full of hunters," was her response. "We can't always afford comfort."

Kirby sprawled on her back in the grass. "Yeah, but this is like headquarters for you. If you can't feel at home here, then where?" Lenore lied next to her. Staring up at the clouds, she saw the vague image of a snarling dog in one of them.

"There are things here that don't really make this house a home," she murmured. Her friend snorted.

"Like what? This place seems pretty great to me."

"You're surrounded by the plot bubble of protection," she replied. "Anybody with the plot bubble of protection sees a different version of this house." A laugh burst out of Kirby like a popped balloon.

"What the heck is the plot bubble of protection?"

Lenore blinked. The snarling dog in the sky was lunging forward in slow motion. "Like in a book when you know a character is in the sequel, because your brother was blurting out spoilers at the dinner table. You know they're going to be okay because obviously they have to make it to the next book. It makes the danger they're in less real. That character has the plot bubble of protection. But other characters that aren't necessarily in the sequel? They don't have that protection. Anything could happen to them."

Now the cloud dog was opening its maw, preparing to chomp down on the head of a fuzzy bunny.

"The kids here who aren't orphans, they have the plot bubble of protection. Everyone knows that this isn't where your story ends. One day, your mom or dad or uncle will come and get you. But for the others? For all they know, this is the end of the line. No one's going to come looking for them."

The cloud dog overtook the cloud bunny, morphing into one indecipherable blob. For a while, Kirby was quiet. Then she said. "I guess I can see that. Uncertainty doesn't really make a place feel like home."

* * *

Dean had to admit, for a woman who was likely twice his age, Alice Shepherd didn't look it. He kept catching Sam giving him a whiny bitch face whenever he flirted, but Dean was in his element. Things usually went faster when there was an authority figure he could charm. And he couldn't exactly go after the more age-appropriate Shepherd. He burned that bridge without even realizing it. Not to mention Alice seemed much more receptive to him. He didn't make a habit of flirting with older women, but he preferred that to someone who was stone-cold frigid.

Alice returned with a phone and a smile. "Sorry boys, but it looks like Dawn's off gallivanting with some of the other kids. Though they all know what time dinner is, so it might be easier to wait until then. In the meantime, we can make that phone call and get everything in order."

Internally, Dean grumbled. This was becoming more trouble than it was worth. They only needed to get the kid, get out, and deliver her. It was supposed to be simple. "I don't know. We should be back on the road—"

"You'll get a home-cooked meal out of it," Alice interjected. "And dessert, of course. I've been told I bake a mean triple-berry pie."

"Pie?" Dean shrugged. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to stick around." Maybe this trip wasn't such a waste of time after all.

While they waited, Sam asked if he might be able to browse their library. Part of Dean believed that Sammy was just no longer able to contain his inner nerd. But then, he flashed Dean a look that made him reconsider. What did he want that was in their library?

Alice said it wasn't a problem and gamely volunteered to show him the way. As they left the kitchen Dean said, "I think I'm going to take a walk. Who knows? Maybe I'll run into Dawn."

A blip of emotion crossed Alice Shepherd's face. A blip of something she quickly hid. The woman smiled at him. "Go right ahead. Just be sure you're back here by six."

He exited the house by the front door and then circled around to the backyard. As he walked, he scanned the area. Something about that scratched wall in the parlor got him thinking. The first thing he did was go up to one of the windows. It looked in on a living room, one that appeared more modern and comfortable than the parlor. Big TV, leather sofa, and soft carpet. But Dean wasn't interested on what was inside. He was much more curious about the odd window frame.

It was speckled.

Dean glanced over both shoulders and then used his thumbnail to pick at the white paint. Examining the flakes under his nail, he concluded that there was definitely something grainy mixed into it. On the other side of the window, he saw that the sill was encased in glass.

It was salt, he realized. Someone had put down a line of salt on the inside of the windowsill and then built a glass case around it. That grainy substance mixed in with the paint was probably salt too.

He wandered over to the patio. Unlike the porch in the front, which was narrow and had steps, the patio was wide and flat and made of brick. The bricks were different shades that seemed to create a pattern the longer Dean stared at them. He took a step back and focused only on the darker colored ones. After two minutes of scrutinizing, he finally saw the bigger picture.

It was a devil's trap. The entire patio was a devil's trap laid in brick.

"No risk of a demon getting out of that," he said to himself.

The sound of small voices drew him down the path in the middle of the garden. The trail ended by a gazebo. Sitting under its shade were three kids—two girls and one boy. The oldest girl appeared to be around twelve years old. He guessed the younger girl and the boy were about the same age, maybe eight or nine. His hopes were dashed when he noted that the oldest girl looked nothing like any of the pictures of Dawn that Carly Janson showed him and Sam. This girl had short, rusty red hair and an abundance of freckles.

A box filled with chalk was placed in between them. They talked quietly to each other as they scribbled on the concrete floor. The boy glanced up, catching sight of Dean, and hissed at the others to shut up. All three kids turned to stare at him. He smiled at them, but it was forced. Their intent, unwelcoming stares were a little unnerving. There was a damn good reason children in horror movies were creepy.

"Hey," he said. "I'm looking for Dawn Gellar. Any of you seen her today?"

"No," said the little girl.

"But she has been living here," Dean pressed.

The boy nodded.

Dean held back a sigh. This was like pulling teeth. "Where was the last place you saw her?"

The older girl spoke up this time. "We're not supposed to talk to strangers."

He dropped the phony smile. "Yeah, well you're also supposed to respect your elders." None of the kids looked intimidated in the least. In fact, they completely ignored him. Following the older girl's lead, the younger two picked up their chalk and resumed scrawling on the concrete.

Dean frowned.

On closer inspection, they weren't just doodling clumsy images of butterflies and rainbows. The twelve-year-old was making a rough sketch of a devil's trap. The boy was attempting to draw an anti-possession sigil. And the youngest girl's tongue was poking out of her mouth as she carefully wrote the Latin alphabet.

Yep. These were definitely hunters' kids.

* * *

Sam was engrossed in the Shepherds' considerable home library. The room was two stories tall—there was even a balcony where people on the second floor could look into the expansive room. Bookshelves went all the way up to the ceiling. And there was plenty of natural light coming from the tall windows.

It was a stroke of luck that the foster kids at the Shepherd Home ran wild. Alice Shepherd assured him and Dean that Dawn had gone to play with several of the other children almost every day this week. The kids were always back by dinner time, and they were all trained on what to do in case of an emergency.

Carly Janson had been relieved to hear that she would have her niece back soon, though needless to say, she was upset that she couldn't talk to Dawn when they called her. Sam promised that as soon as Dawn was back for dinner, he'd call Carly again so she could speak to the girl.

Two hands slammed down on the table in front of him, giving Sam a minor heart attack. Dean chuckled and dropped down into the chair opposite him. "That's what you read for fun?" He balked at the giant tome Sam had open before him.

"It never hurts to have more resources other than Bobby and Dad's journal," Sam replied vaguely. Especially since neither of those resources had given him any ideas on how to get Dean out of his crossroads deal.

"Does something about this place seem weird to you?" Dean interjected. Sam sighed and dog-eared the page he was reading before looking up at his brother.

"Weird how?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, man. I met some of the kids living here while I was outside. They gave me a _Shining_ vibe." Sam raised one eyebrow.

"You think they're ghosts?"

"No, I don't think there's a ghost within fifty miles of here. These Shepherds are freaking paranoid. They've turned their house into Fort Knox for hunters."

Sam's eyes drifted back down to his book. "So what are you saying?" he asked distractedly. Dean snorted.

"I'm saying they're creepy-ass kids with creepy-ass secrets." Sam's gaze darted back to his brother, expression skeptical. "Hey," Dean pointed his finger at him, "you weren't there. You didn't see them."

"If you think there's something strange, then why not ask Alice Shepherd?" His tone might have been a little snippy, but in his defense, it had been a long day and he'd been forced to listen to Dean's complaining nonstop in the car. Not to mention the flirting.

"Seriously, dude?" Dean laughed and leaned his elbows on the table. "I'm just trying to speed things along. It's not like I'm actually interested." Then he grinned. "Although, you got to admit, Alice Shepherd's easy on the eyes."

"And you couldn't have worked your charm on Lenore?"

"Uh, did you see the way she looked at me? I think I'll need a parka in a few months, because hell definitely froze over."

"Well, you threatened to bring police and reporters to her house. You had to know she wasn't going to write you a thank-you card."

Eventually, Dean got bored hanging out in the library, and Sam didn't have to be so covert about what he was researching. So far, he wasn't having any luck. But there were about a thousand more books in this house, so his search was far from over.

To him, the hours flew by. It seemed like Dean had only just left him when Alice Shepherd made an appearance to announce that it was six o'clock. As soon as his head was out of the pile of books he'd amassed on the table, Sam smelled roast beef.

She led him to a dining room where a long table was set for ten people. He did a quick head count. There was him and Dean, Alice and Lenore, and five children ranging in age from possibly seven at the youngest to about fourteen at the oldest. None of the kids looked like the pictures of Dawn Gellar. There was also one more place setting than there were people. He shot Dean a look, but his brother had yet to tear his eyes away from all the food on the table.

Turning to Alice, he said, "Not to be pushy Mrs. Shepherd, but I don't see Dawn here." She frowned, and her eyes swept over the heads of all the kids present. She hummed thoughtfully.

"Lenore," she said, "where did you say you last saw Dawn?" The look of utter betrayal on Lenore's face lasted for only a second, but it was enough to raise a red flag in Sam's mind.

Lenore cleared her throat. "I saw her in the garden," she answered in a flat tone. Alice waved her daughter away.

"Well, why don't you go take a looksee and make sure she hasn't lost track of time." She smiled and guided Sam to a chair beside Dean. "No need to let dinner go cold. We'll be sure to save them something."

Throughout the meal, Sam ate politely all the while keeping a sharp eye on the dining room door. Neither Dawn nor Lenore Shepherd returned. It was odd, he thought, that Dawn hadn't been seen all day and yet no one appeared to be worried. Although seemingly distracted by the table laden with home-cooked food, Dean was evidently thinking the same thing.

"Does this happen often?" he asked.

Alice's smile snapped back into place like a rubber band. "Excuse me?"

"Losing track of other people's kids." Dean nodded to the empty place settings. "Because if I was watching somebody's kid and she disappeared for an entire day, I'd be raising an alarm. But you guys are acting like this is just another Tuesday night."

The children at the table looked nervously between Dean and Alice. Finally, the woman's relentless smile faded into a more resigned expression. "Look, boys. I was hoping this situation would be resolved by tonight, but that's obviously not going to happen." She breathed in deeply and then continued. "Not all kids take it in stride when their parents or another hunter leaves them in my care. Unfortunately, it's not uncommon for some of my charges to run away."

Sam balked. "So you're saying that Dawn ran away? And you didn't think it would be useful for us to know that? We could have been helping you look instead of wasting hours just sitting around."

Alice shook her head. "You don't know these woods like Lenore and I do. We've become adept at tracking down runaways, but it's not always easy. You have to remember that these kids were all raised by hunters. They're resourceful. Locating them can take some time depending on the child." She began collecting empty plates. "And no, I didn't tell you and your brother about this. Like I said, I was hoping to have a resolution by tonight. But it's not resolved, so now I'm telling you."

She said that last part over her shoulder as she walked into the kitchen with a stack of used dishes. As soon as she disappeared, the five kids at the table scattered. Sam blinked, and they were gone. The only sign of their departure was the open door left in their wake.

He looked at Dean, who in turn looked like he wanted to punch a hole through the wall. This was not going to be the simple case they were promised.

* * *

Lenore's stomach hurt. She knew she was probably hungry, since she could count the number of things she'd eaten all day on one hand. Hunger wasn't the only thing tying her stomach into knots, though. Even if she hadn't been banished from the dining room, she wasn't sure if she could have kept any food down.

Strictly speaking, she hadn't lied. The last place she saw Dawn was in the garden, but that was seven days ago. Her mom knew that. She was only stalling for more time. Alice was going to punish her for not finding the girl, and that twisted her insides. Lenore thoroughly searched the house, petrified to report back with a negative response. When she could no longer justify her continued search, she began the heart-pounding journey to her mother's room.

She had spent the last twenty minutes on the roof, hoping to spot Dawn's tiny figure from a greater height. Now she climbed back into the house through the attic window. In the attic, Henry was waiting for her.

"I haven't seen Dawn either," he said.

"It's okay, Henry."

"I'll keep looking," he promised. "I tried to get Hilly and Tabatha to help too, but they wouldn't listen to me."

"That's all right, Henry."

He walked with her down the dark hallways. Lenore wasn't sure what time it was, but she knew for certain that everyone was shut inside their bedrooms. Behind Kendra and Alisha's door, she heard crying. She paused at the threshold and rapped gently on the door. Without waiting for permission to enter, Lenore slowly pushed it open.

Alisha sat on her older sister's bed, sniffling into the redhead's shoulder.

"What's the matter?" Lenore asked. Alisha's breaths came in ragged gasps. Kendra answered for her.

"She misses Dawn." Kendra eyed Lenore warily as she stepped farther into their room.

The coming darkness outside was pushed away by the little lamp on the nightstand between their two beds. The lamp was light blue, like the ocean. By the lamp was a music box that Lenore had chosen especially for these two girls. She bought it at one of the quaint gift shops in town. Ignoring Kendra's leery stare, she approached the nightstand, picked up the music box, and wound the key on the bottom.

A sad but sweet tune began to play. She replaced the music box on the nightstand and then crouched beside the two sisters on the bed.

"Don't be scared," she said softly, "and don't be sad. Just remember to smile for Miss Alice."

Alisha nodded, wiping her wet cheeks on the back of her hand.

Lenore closed the door when she left. Poor girl. At least Alisha was still young enough to find some comfort in her reassurance. She knew that Kendra found her words hollow and paltry, but they were the only comfort Lenore had to offer.

* * *

They were spending the night. Alice Shepherd offered, seeing as how the Shepherd Home had plenty of extra rooms. Alice brought Sam and Dean upstairs. She gave them separate rooms right across the hall from each other.

"Lenore's bedroom is down that way. Last door on the left." Alice pointed toward the end of the corridor. "If you need anything, she's more than capable of helping. Bathrooms are down that way," she pointed to the open door opposite Lenore's bedroom, "and that way." Alice turned and arched her arm to point over the landing to the other hall where the kids slept. "Or feel free to venture downstairs, if you're so inclined."

Before the hour grew too late, Sam returned to the library to grab a few books he could keep on his bedside table. Given that this case was turning out to be more complicated than he originally thought, he realized he might not have as much time for researching demon deals as he had hoped.

He turned the lamp on when the sky grew dark. The bed creaked under his weight as he settled in. Picking up where he left off before dinner, Sam unfolded the dog-eared page. Although, he almost lost his place when the door opened abruptly, startling him. Dean leaned on the door handle.

"Can't sleep," he said. "I was going to see if I could find a map of the local terrain. What're you reading?"

Sam glanced down at the book and then quickly closed it. "Nothing. Just something to help me sleep. What do you need a map for? Are you planning to go hiking in the middle of the night?"

"Just thought I'd scout out some likely spots where Dawn might've hunkered down," he said. Dean squinted at one of the books on his nightstand. It took all of Sam's willpower not to scramble to cover it up. What were the odds that he could read the cover from across the room? "You know what," Dean said, "never mind. We can talk about this tomorrow."

He ducked out of Sam's room, pulling the door shut with him.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Juggling his own research and this case would be a lot easier if Dean didn't find out what he was doing on the sly. Sam wasn't sure if he'd throw a fit or just make some snide, cynical remarks. Either way, it was better if all of Dean's focus remained on finding Dawn Gellar.

* * *

Something was up with Sam. He definitely had an ulterior motive for dragging him to the Shepherd Home for Wayward Sons and Daughters, but Dean decided he'd leave it be for now.

Unable to sleep, he padded down the hallway. He noticed that Lenore's bedroom door was closed; no light shown beneath it. The rest of the rooms down this hallway were vacant, their doors standing open. He remembered that Alice said the kids slept in rooms on the other side of the stairwell. He doubted any of the kids knew where a map might be kept, and Lenore certainly wasn't chomping at the bit to help him.

If they had a map, he figured it would be in the library.

The landing around the spiral staircase was an open area. Big, picture windows on either side provided natural light during the day. One window looked down on the driveway in the front, and the other one displayed the sprawling woods beyond the Shepherds' backyard. The moon hung low held up by reaching tree branches. The sprawling forest was daunting. How were they supposed to find the exact location of some snot-nosed kid out there? Alice Shepherd must have been delusional if she thought her one weird daughter could thoroughly search that much land all by herself.

A large bird rose up from the trees far in the distance. At its appearance, the forest fell silent. Dean paused and drew closer to the back window. In his experience, if you were traveling the wilderness and the animals shut up, it wasn't a good sign. The bird swooped to the left, and his eyes grew wide. It was a bigger bird than he first thought. If he didn't know better, he would say it was nearly the size of a man. Not to mention that it didn't appear to be flapping at all. Just gliding through the air. It turned toward the house, and Dean swore he saw two red eyes glowing under the pale illumination of the moon.

"What the hell?" he muttered. The bird swooped down, disappearing back into the trees. Dean rushed for the stairs. Forgoing a jacket and shoes, he ran for the backdoor. His bare feet hit the brick devil's trap on the patio. In the time it had taken to make it outside, the atmosphere had changed once again. The night was no longer quiet. The many choirs of crickets were the loudest. Whatever had scared them momentarily silent was gone now. Dean cursed himself for not being faster, although if he was honest there was no way he could have made it miles into the forest in time to catch the creature.

If he was a gambling man—and really, why not be one since he was already going to hell—Dean would bet that what he saw through the Shepherds' window wasn't a bird. This case just got a little more interesting.

* * *

Early in the morning, Lenore awoke from a nightmare. It was one of those nightmares that left her paralyzed and sweating for fifteen minutes after waking. She got out of bed and traversed down to the kitchen. Putting the kettle on the stove, she grabbed a box of her favorite tea from the cupboard. Lenore sat on a stool at the kitchen island and waited for the water to boil.

For the first time in her life, Lenore worried about the future of the Shepherd Home. They had never been in this situation before where a child went missing at the same time someone came looking for them. And these men weren't civilians or the police. They were hunters. Good hunters, if gossip was anything to go by.

A silhouette appeared in the entryway of the dark kitchen. Lenore watched the shadow of her mother enter the room and turned the stove off just as the kettle began to whistle. She poured herself a cup of tea. It seemed neither of the Shepherd women could find restful sleep tonight. Alice reached across the counter and poured steaming water into her daughter's cup.

Lenore sipped her tea. "We have to be careful," she murmured.

"Tell me something I don't know," Alice growled back.

"They're not like the others who have come looking in the past," she insisted. "Sam and Dean won't give up and go away." Her mom's arms went rigid as her hands tightened around the teacup. Uh oh. Lenore tried to shrink back from her mother's tamped down rage scratching dangerously close to the surface. _Danger_ , screamed her brain. _Danger, Will Robinson!_ It was too late to save herself, though.

"You sound like you have a better idea for how to handle this situation, Lenore." Alice's voice wadeceptively soft. "You sound like you want to go back out there searching for her right now." Lenore looked down at herself. She was wearing thin cotton pajamas and nothing on her feet. Not even socks. "In fact," she set her cup on the counter and walked around the kitchen island, "you sound downright eager." Alice wrenched her daughter off the stool and roughly pushed her to the doorway. Lenore winced, her knee twinging from when she fell down the stairs last week.

Lenore's shoulder clipped the doorframe, and she stubbed her toe, but her mom did not stop or even slow down. She hauled Lenore to the back door and tossed her onto the patio, closing and locking the door behind her. Without her key, she had no way back inside.

Shivering, Lenore wrapped her arms around herself. The early morning air was too chilly to be comfortable. Her bare feet quickly turned numb. It was useless to try to get back indoors, and if Alice discovered Lenore out here doing anything other than what she'd been ordered to do, there would be hell to pay. So, shivering and limping, Lenore crossed the garden and headed off on a trail into the forest.

The throbbing in her big toe faded relatively fast. Definitely not broken. She was sure there would be a bruise on her shoulder later, but that discomfort was trivial in comparison to her knee.

A little over a week ago, when she fell down the stairs, she'd barely been able to walk. Her head pounded, and her knee was swollen. After two days, she could hobble around on it. Once she was on her feet again, Alice booted Lenore out of the house to search for the newly missing Dawn. Her knee felt mostly better now. If she didn't spend too much time walking, then her limp was hardly noticeable. But after her day of hiking yesterday, the joint was screaming its complaints. Lenore hopped along the trail, practically dragging her leg.

A white fog hung over the deep emerald of the trees. It clung to her hair, making the brown tendrils frizz. Droplets collected on her arm hair, raising even more goosebumps.

Lenore was familiar with the boundaries put in place around the Shepherd property. Buried protections and sigils carved into trees. As soon as she passed the final one, she was prepared to see two ghostly figures waiting. Hilly was deathly pale, her stringy brown hair only slightly lighter than Lenore's. She was seventeen when she died, and Lenore had been eight. She remembered when seventeen seemed like a far-off milestone that she would never reach. Now, in her early twenties, seventeen seemed so young.

Tabatha's ghostly complexion was only darker than Hilly's because it had been naturally darker in life. Her hair, black as night, was hacked short, an act that had occurred a week before her death. Tabatha's hair had been beautiful. When she died, she was fifteen and Lenore thirteen.

Hugging herself tighter, Lenore limped past them. The air grew colder, making her breath join the white clouds of fog. Hilly and Tabatha followed her.

They didn't have to stay all the way out here in the woods. Lenore had made it so they could slip past all the protective wards in the forest. If they wanted, they could hang out in the garden where they might find some company. Lenore didn't risk compromising the protections surrounding the house, though. The only spirit who could enter the house was Henry, and that was because his remains were still inside, hidden in the basement. Hilly and Tabatha had been given hunters' funerals, their bodies salted and burned. However, without Alice's knowledge, Lenore had stolen strands of hair from their brushes and a few of their cherished possessions and hidden them out in the forest.

"Lenore Shepherd." Tabatha's voice carried on the breeze, disturbing the fog and making the cold nearly unbearable. She appeared in front of Lenore wearing the torn clothes she'd died in. "You're looking old."

Even after a decade, it was easy for Lenore to slip back into old habits and sneer at Tabatha. "Oh, shut up. I'm the only reason you're still here. If you want to be a bitch, go do it somewhere else." The circles beneath Tabatha's eyes deepened, and Lenore remembered too late that she had nothing to defend herself. No salt, no iron. Before the agitated spirit could throw herself or anything else at Lenore, Hilly materialized between them.

Where Tabatha looked undeniably vengeful, Hilly's countenance was lost and sad. "Don't," she breathed softly, her pale green eyes imploring her sister in death.

Lenore was unabashedly fonder of Hilly than Tabatha. In life, she saw Hilly as the big sister she never had. She'd looked up to the older girl. Hilly was gentle and kind and fiercely protective. She had an unshakable integrity. Secretly, Lenore had always aspired to be like her, even after Hilly was gone. She wondered how disappointed her role model would be if she could see that at home, Lenore was not only a timid child still, but also a darker version of her old self. Lenore had always been followed by shadows, but as she grew older, her shadows crept closer to the surface.

Tabatha glared at Lenore, heeding Hilly's beseeching plea. The ghosts followed her no farther.

* * *

Sam woke up early the next morning and was unsurprised to see his brother was already dressed and ready to go. "You find any maps last night?" he asked as they trudged down the stairs.

The Shepherd Home was quiet. It was too early for any of the kids to be awake. There was no sign of either of the Shepherd women either.

"Yep." Dean reached into a pocket of his jacket and pulled out a map that had been folded haphazardly. "A detailed one, too." He tossed it to Sam on their way out the door. Sam could tell just from holding it that this map was well used. The paper felt soft on his fingertips; the folded creases were worn, and some of the edges were beginning to tear. As he unfolded it, Sam saw places where somebody had carefully repaired the map with shipping tape.

Dean was right, the map was detailed. Natural features of the land were depicted and labeled, but most of the pertinent details had been made by hand. An X marked the Shepherd Home for Wayward Sons and Daughters. Colored lines showed different trails through the forest. Sam cocked his head and squinted at a series of little black dots. In tiny, neat handwriting was written "Salt Lines." His eyes widened as he took in all the other handwritten marks around the X on the map. All of the Shepherds' measures of protection were documented here, and there were quite a few of them. Reading the meticulous labels, he wasn't even sure what some of these things were meant to protect them _against_. He doubted there was a monster of any kind that could get within three miles of this place.

"This is great," he said. "Was it in the library like you thought?"

Dean nodded. "In the big desk by the window. I figured Alice wouldn't mind that we borrowed it if it helps us find Dawn."

They paused at the beginning of the first trail which disappeared into the thick copse of trees. Dean bent over the map with Sam and pointed to the three trails that branched off from the first. "Trail B," he said. It was marked in green. He traced it right into the heart of the forest. "We should start there."

Sam frowned. "Why that one?" Why not Trail A, which followed the river? Or Trail C, which looped around toward town? Those both seemed like more reasonable options for a runaway teen.

"I saw something last night," he replied. "And it came from out there." Not waiting for Sam to continue arguing, he set off down the trail. Sam jogged to catch up.

"You saw something? What was it?"

Dean didn't answer immediately. When he did, it was with great reluctance. "I'm not sure."

Sam waited, but his brother didn't continue. "You're not sure," he repeated.

"It was far away and dark," he snapped defensively. "All I could see was that it had wings and it was big. It didn't flap at all, just soared like a pterodactyl-sized hawk."

Sam held back a smirk. "You saw a big bird?" Dean glared at him.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

He allowed Dean to lead the way even though Sam was still holding the map. Dean seemed confident in where they were going; it made Sam wonder how long he'd been awake, and if he'd spent all that time studying the marked trails. "What does this big bird have to do with Dawn Gellar?"

He answered Sam's question with another question. "What are the odds that there's a missing kid and a big, flying monster in the same area at the same time and they have nothing to do with each other? Pretty, friggin' low I'd say."

"Yeah, but Dean, you saw all the fortifications they've set up around the woods. It would act as a supernatural moat."

"Whatever I saw last night, it was out past the protective border. If Dawn made it that far, she would have been an easy picking."

They walked on in silence after that.

The fog last night must have been thick given how much of it still lingered. As the sun rose higher, it burned off the fog until it was only a thin veil. Letting Dean blaze ahead, Sam continued studying the map. All these precautions must have taken years to implement. He was curious now to see blueprints of the house. He was willing to bet those marks on the walls were sigils of some kind.

By nature, most hunters were paranoid; it came with the job. But from what he'd seen of the Shepherds, they went above and beyond paranoid. However, they were caring for other people's children, so they really couldn't be too cautious. Still, seeing this map with the meticulously hand-drawn additions…it gave him a weird feeling in his gut. He remembered Dean saying something similar the other day, something about all these kids creeping him out. At the time, he thought it was just Dean not knowing how to talk to children. After all, that wasn't a skill they had to exercise very often. But then Sam noticed it at dinner last night. His brother was right, there was something weird going on with those kids. This whole situation bore a hint of the bizarre under its quaint veneer.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean's hand twitch, which was all the warning he got before a gunshot rang through the air. Someone shouted, and Sam nearly dropped the map.

At a glance, he could see why Dean took the shot. The girl was pale and dressed in mud-splattered pajamas made of thin, white cotton. Her dark hair was limp and stringy and her complexion pallid. They weren't close enough to the house for someone to go for an early morning stroll without putting on anything warmer. On the other hand, if she was a ghost, she would have dissipated as soon as she was hit with rock salt.

She clutched her side, but Sam could still see where her shirt was torn. A trickle of blood leaked through her fingers. Then she glared up at them, and with a start, he realized it was Lenore Shepherd.

Dean scowled. "What the hell are you doing out here?" With the gruff manner of someone who wasn't accustomed to apologizing to many people, Dean grabbed Lenore's arms and hoisted her to her feet.

"Me?" She gaped at them incredulously. "What am _I_ doing? What are _you_ doing traipsing around the woods shooting people willy-nilly?!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's rock salt, sweetheart. You'll be fine." He tucked his gun back into the waistband of his pants. "And at least we're dressed like hikers," he added and gestured up and down to her attire. "Could you look any more like a vengeful spirit?"

"I will be if I die out here," she growled as she gingerly peeled her hand away from her wounded side.

Shaking his head, Dean began to move forward. "I told you, Princess, it's rock salt. I think you're going to pull through."

Sam folded the map and stuffed it inside his jacket pocket. "Here," he said, kneeling in front of her, "let me look at it." With her standing and him crouched low, Sam was eyelevel with her stomach. She lifted the corner of her shirt for him to see. Although Lenore's hand was stained red, the cuts weren't very deep. Dean was right, though Sam wasn't about to tell her that in those exact words. He might have towered over her slight frame, but at the moment, she resembled an angry wolverine that could have easily clawed his eyes out.

"It doesn't look too bad," he told her with a smile. He dug in one of his inside pockets for a pack of alcohol wipes. "You should be okay once it's been cleaned and covered." Snatching the wipe from his hand, Lenore cleaned the shallow wounds herself.

Sam took the opportunity to get a better look at her.

As he noted before, she wasn't dressed to go hiking. Her limp hair was wet, probably from the mist, and it didn't appear brushed. There was mud under her finger nails and staining her knees. He surmised that she had tripped and fallen at least once. Tiny scratches marred the skin of her arms; he presumed that she fought her way through thick foliage, meaning she'd likely ventured off the path. Lastly, he noticed that she wasn't wearing shoes. Her bare feet were caked in dirt, and he saw even more scratches around her ankles. Also, judging by the fact that she was on her way home while they were on their way out, she had been out here well before he and Dean.

Who went hiking in the early hours of the morning without shoes?

Dean was waiting for him several feet up the trail. Lenore crumped the alcohol wipe in her fist and set off in the opposite direction dragging her right leg and hopping on her left. Dean rolled his eyes again, like Lenore was just playing up her injuries for drama, but Sam remembered seeing her limp up the stairs yesterday. This had nothing to do with being shot by rock salt.

He paused, feeling torn. On the one hand, Dean would most definitely continue on by himself if Sam bowed out, and he was reluctant to allow that. On the other hand, it seemed wrong to let Lenore—weaponless, alone, and wounded—limp back home without assistance. After a minute, Dean made the decision for him.

"Oh, just go with her, Prince Charming. Give me the map. I'll be fine."

He hesitated but ultimately ran to catch up to Lenore. There was a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach for leaving his brother. He reminded himself that Dean was a capable hunter, not bleeding and limping through the forest barefoot.

Having long legs made it easy to eat up the distance she'd put between them. Sam's feet beat the ground as he slowed to a trot. Lenore looked over her shoulder warily at his approach. "Where's your brother?" she said.

He shrugged casually. "Dean decided to keep going."

"And you thought that poor little girl is going to fall into a ravine and break her neck?"

"No." He was more concerned that she would run into something with nasty intentions. Maybe even the monster that nabbed Dawn, if that was in fact what had happened to the girl.

"You know, I might not be a hunter, but that doesn't mean I can't handle myself."

"I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it."

Irritated, he huffed. "Fine," he snapped. "If you can handle yourself, then what are you doing in the woods without shoes and dressed in pajamas?" He watched as the anger faded from her expression, leaving a blank slate in its place. Her pace decreased to a shuffle until she stopped completely. Lenore swayed, and Sam tensed just in case he needed to catch her. She reached out for a nearby tree to steady herself.

"If you and your brother have one ounce of compassion for the kids here," she spoke quietly, "then you'll make this problem with Dawn and Ms. Janson go away."

Frowning, Sam moved to touch her elbow but then thought better of it. "Lenore," he said gently, the same way he would speak to a cornered animal, "is everything okay?"

Her laugh was caustic. She straightened her spine and started walking again. "Our families are hunters. Nothing is ever okay."

* * *

By the time Dean made it back to the Shepherd Home, he was dirty, sweaty, and covered in deerfly bites—wood ticks too, most likely—but he was happy. After Sam left, he continued hiking following his chosen trail on the map. He was about two hours in when he thought he saw someone darting in between the trees. Using his knife to mark the trunks as he passed them, Dean stepped off the trail and into the woods.

From a distance, the figure he was chasing looked like a teenage girl. Brown hair and dressed in dirty clothes, it had to be Dawn. But just when he thought he caught up to her, Dean pushed two branches aside only to discover that the girl had vanished. He scoured the area, high and low, but there was no sign of another human being. However, there was a sign of something else.

Looking skyward was a collection of branches resting high in one of the trees. If the structure was ten times smaller, Dean would have guessed that it was the nest of a hawk or an eagle. He went up to the tree in question and looked for a handhold. Branches were pretty sparse down by the forest floor.

He backed up and reevaluated the situation. There was another way up the tree; it was just going to cost him a little more blood, sweat, and tears.

Hugging the trunk with his arms and legs, Dean managed to shimmy up the tree, the rough bark scraping his hands, neck, and chest until he reached a point where he could grab hold of a sturdy branch. By the time he reached the nest, he was drenched in sweat and covered in scratches. Peering over the edge, he found the nest empty. It was definitely a nest, though. There was a bed of twigs and leaves near him, and there were tufts of fur from small animals littered about. He was about to leave emptyhanded when a spot of color caught his eye.

It was a piece of cloth snagged on one of the branches woven into the nest. Dean tugged it free. It felt like a piece of a shirt. The white material was soft and breathable. A partial design was visible on it. To him, it looked like part of a purple flower. He climbed back to the ground and carefully tucked the material into his pocket. If it matched something that Dawn had been wearing the last time anyone saw her, this could be the break they needed.

On his way back to the house, Dean kept an eye out for the girl who led him to the nest, but she remained elusive. If that was Dawn, then she was still alive. If it wasn't Dawn, then that raised a bigger question. How many runaway kids were living in these woods?

* * *

Lenore was in no mood to push her luck today. She was determined to stay out of her mother's hair and not risk incurring any more of her anger.

Over the years, Lenore had mastered the art of hiding in the Shepherd Home. You couldn't just pick one place and stay there. That was the mistake new kids made. You had to move around in order to remain elusive. She cleaned herself up, washing the mud and blood down the drain and then went up to the attic to hide. She stayed there for two hours hoping that Henry would come keep her company. He didn't, though, and Lenore got bored.

Next, she descended the secret staircase, concealed and used in for emergency evacuation, and exited through the pantry in the kitchen. From there, Lenore prowled around the garden. It was easy to hide there, surrounded by sunflowers, cornstalks, and robust raspberry bushes. It was past midday by the time she made her way to the library. That was where she got caught. Not by her mom but by Sam Winchester.

He found her behind a bookshelf perched on the windowsill. A serious expression pulled his features down as he approached. Before he could speak, Lenore said, "Are you any relation to that crazy lady with the house in California?"

Thrown off guard, he stopped and blinked at her. "Um, what?"

"You know. The lady whose husband made the Winchester rifle, which basically killed everyone in the Old West. After he died, she was so afraid the ghosts of the people the gun killed would take revenge on her that she renovated her house into this maze. Built on it until the day she passed away. I believe her line of thought was that her insane house would confuse any vengeful spirits that came knocking."

Now Sam was looking at her like _she_ was the one who was crazy. "I, uh…I really don't know."

"You should find out," she suggested, hopping off the sill. "It would be a good conversation starter. There are lots of ways to track your genealogy these days…" Lenore trailed off at the gentle pressure on her arm. Sam stopped her from brushing past him, hesitant to grab her too hard, but his hand was firm enough to keep her from making an easy escape. Damn.

"Do you have a minute? I wanted to talk to you."

Not seeing much of a choice, Lenore reclaimed her seat while Sam sat on the edge of the sill across from her. "About what?"

"I wanted to compare notes on anything that might have taken Dawn after she ran away."

"I'm not a hunter," was her automatic reply.

Sam heaved a sigh. "I know you're not, but I also know you're not stupid. Dean said he saw something flying over the forest last night. Something big."

Lenore raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Could you be any vaguer?"

"That's all I got from Dean, but I've been cross-referencing anything that matched his description in our dad's journal with some of the books in your library." It was only then that she noticed the thin spiral notebook in his hand. He flipped it open to what she presumed were his notes. "The only thing I could find in the journal that was even close were tales of the Jersey Devil. Those stories are steeped in myth and legend, but pretty much all sources agree that it's not known for flying at great heights."

Sam paused to flip to the next page. "But then, I did an online search paired with the term West Virginia, and this came up." He passed her the notebook. The page was full of scribblings, but what caught Lenore's eye was a word that had been written and traced over several times with a black pen: Mothman. "There hasn't been a legitimate sighting in almost thirty years, but back in the 60s, the Mothman was a big deal. People in this area saw it everywhere, and there were other strange happenings that seemed to come with the sightings." He reached over and pointed to a paragraph that was circled. "Humanoid creature, expansive wings, no neck, and huge, red eyes. That's more detail than Dean could see from a distance, but check this out. It was rarely seen flapping its wings. It just seemed to soar everywhere, even when taking off from the ground."

"It's a Batman villain," she mumbled as she scanned his notes.

"What?"

"That's where its name came from. Well, technically it's Killer Moth, but surprise, surprise, the newspapers got it wrong." She looked up at Sam and gave him back his notebook. "You're not telling me anything I don't already know. Everybody this side of the Ohio River has heard of Mothman."

"And you're not at all shocked that it might be living in your backyard?"

"And you _are_ shocked that weird things happen around hunters?"

Sam set his mouth in a straight line. "No, I guess I shouldn't be. I am concerned, though. The Mothman sightings preceded the disaster that was the Silver Bridge collapse in 1967." His serious, brown eyes bored into her. "It's widely considered a bad omen, and you've got a missing girl on your hands. That's a troubling combination."

Defensive anger made her want to lash out. He didn't live in the Shepherd Home—he didn't know what he was talking about—so who was Sam Winchester to lecture her? He was only worried about Dawn Gellar, but this was bigger than one girl. Dawn wasn't the reason that a creature of ill repute made a home in their backyard. The reason that a shadowy creature lurked in the woods, and the reason that ghosts lingered in the area, and the reason that Dawn ran away were all one in the same.

* * *

When Dean found Sam, he was on the phone wearing his no-nonsense, FBI-agent face. Dean impatiently waited for him to hang up. Whoever was on the other end of the line was obviously giving him hell, and from the tone in Sam's voice, he'd been trying to talk them down for a while. Six minutes later, Sam placed the Shepherds' landline back in the cradle with a sour expression. "That was Carly Janson. She's not happy with the lack of results. If we don't have something positive to tell her in the next three days, we're going to be in hot water."

"Good news then." Dean clapped his hands with a grin. "I found it, Sammy!"

"Dean, she's a girl with a name. Not an it."

"No, not Dawn. That giant bird thing I saw last night. I found its nest. And take a look at this!" He dug the scrap of material out of his pocket. "This was caught on one of the branches. If it came from something Dawn was wearing, then that means we're on the right track."

Suddenly showing a keen interest, Sam leaned forward and took the material to examine it himself. "You didn't find any other trace of Dawn in the nest?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, but I figure that's a good thing. There was evidence of some small animal up there that was not so lucky. If this Big Bird wannabe ate Dawn, her bones and clothes would have been in the nest. So either it took the main course to go or Dawn's not dead."

"Great! So here's what I got." He handed Dean a flimsy spiral notebook.

"Yeah, awesome," he replied flatly. Because deciphering Sam's handwriting sounded like oodles of fun. "Hey, have you seen Alice Shepherd around? I wanted to show her that piece material and see if she recognized it."

Sam frowned. "Now that you mention it, I haven't. Lenore's here, though. Maybe she would know." Dean made a face, causing his brother to roll his eyes. "Dean, she's not that bad. She can actually be pleasant when you don't insult her."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He waved off Sam's assurances as he headed for the kitchen.

"I left her in the library!" Sam called after him.

* * *

Dean didn't go looking for Lenore Shepherd right away. First, he fortified himself with a slice of leftover triple-berry pie from the freezer. But not even pie could quiet all the doubts and suspicions he had about this family that were steadily growing the longer he stayed here.

Hunters were a paranoid bunch, and paranoia bred strange behavior. Not many hunters had a home base, but the ones who did took precautions. The fact that the Shepherds had built their home like a castle didn't strike him as odd. It was the people living here that raised the hairs on his neck.

Alice came across as nice and charming when they first met, but she'd proven to be an adept liar when she withheld important information about Dawn Gellar even though she knew he and Sam were there to take her to her aunt. Right out the gate, Lenore was secretive and cagey. She clearly had issues with her mother, and yet did exactly as she was told, even if it meant missing dinner. If Sam could hear his thoughts, he would have pointed out that Dean's relationship with their dad was not dissimilar, but, Dean reassured himself, he wasn't the one who was possibly mentally unstable. Who went walking in the forest barefoot, dressed in their pajamas, before the asscrack of dawn? No pun intended.

The foster kids were even more peculiar than Lenore. They crept around the house and the grounds like there were landmines hidden everywhere. They didn't shout or playfully run amuck, leaving the Shepherd Home eerily quiet considering there were five kids taking up residence. They seemed…nervous. Like it was the first time their parents took them on a hunt, and they were trying to be brave.

And the runaway girl. What made a hunter's kid take off into the forest on her own when she had a soft bed and good food here? Then there was the brief image of that other girl that led him to the nest. What the hell was going on?

He was relieved not to find Lenore in the library. He supposed he could track her down, but it would be a lot easier to just wait for dinner time when he knew exactly where she would be. In the meantime, he climbed the stairs, intent on going back to his guest room and then showering off all the sweat and dirt from his hike. He turned left on the landing. As soon as he entered the dark hallway, Dean stopped. He had the feeling he was being watched.

"Pst."

Dean stepped back and surveyed the corridor. All the bedroom doors were open, although someone could have been hiding behind one of them, watching him.

"Pst!"

His ears honed in on the sound, locating the general direction it came from. Backtracking, Dean walked down the hallway opposite the one where he and Sam slept last night. Between the first two rooms was a linen cabinet set into the wall at eyelevel. Below that was a vent, and between the slats were a pair of hazel eyes.

"Hey, big guy. Over here," they whispered.

Dean smirked. "Usually, people are talking to Sammy when they say that." He started to bend at the waist, but the voice frantically interrupted him.

"No, no!" they hissed. "Stand up! Pretend you're looking for a washcloth for your bathroom." Confused and irked at being ordered about by what he assumed was a child, he slowly did as they suggested. He opened the cabinet door and began to paw around the clean linens.

"How did you get in the vent?" he asked after a minute of silence. For a second, he thought the kid wasn't going to answer, and then he heard their voice, quieter than before.

"There's a crawlspace under the bathtub so people can get at the plumbing. The access panel is in my room. It just happens to go past the vent."

Dean couldn't tell if the person he was speaking to was one of the girls or maybe the young boy he'd seen under the gazebo. He didn't believe it was the older boy; that kid would have been too big to fit in a crawlspace, and the voice was too high pitched. The silence went on longer this time, and just as Dean was about to say something, the kid cut him off.

"You and your brother should leave. You're not helping anyone by being here."

"Well, that's going to be a problem," he replied in a low voice. "See, me and Sam can't get hit the road until we've got Dawn Gellar. Missing thirteen-year-old girl, maybe you've heard of her."

"Dawn is dead."

Every gear in Dean's brain came to a screeching halt. Dead? He knew the Shepherds were hiding something, but a dead body seemed like a stretch. Unless this kid knew about the bird monster on the prowl and just assumed that Dawn was _probably_ dead. "What makes you so sure?" he growled.

"That's what happens when kids disappear. They don't come back. Ask Lenore why Hilly sleeps in the garden."

He heard shuffling, and when he looked down, there were no eyes staring up at him from between the metal slats of the vent. Son of a bitch.

* * *

After that encounter, Dean couldn't wait for dinner to find Lenore. He scoured the house, the garden, and even the garage. She was as intangible as smoke. How did Sam run into her earlier? Eventually, when he finally gave up, _she_ found _him_.

Earlier, Alice cornered him asking for a status report on Dawn and offered him an iced tea. For some reason, Dean didn't tell her about his brief discussion with one of her charges upstairs. If there was something fishy going on, he didn't want to tip his hand to the woman, who would no doubt talk and charm her way into an explanation. He was sitting under the gazebo sipping on his iced tea when Lenore stepped out of the lilac bushes.

She folded her arms and didn't come any closer. "I'm getting tired of avoiding you," she said. "What do you want?" In answer, Dean held up the piece of cloth. Lenore was forced to approach him where he sat perched on the railing. Like a cautious animal, her hand crept forward, plucked the material from his grasp, and hastily retreated. A crease appeared between her brows as she examined it. "Where did you find this?"

"I think you can probably guess." He slurped on his iced tea. It would be better if it was a Long Island Iced Tea. "In fact, I think you know a lot more about what goes on around this place than you let on."

Her face was impassive, revealing nothing, which told Dean that he was right. People who had nothing to hide didn't guard their reactions so carefully. He placed the sweating glass, now empty of everything except half-melted ice cubes, on the rail next to him and jumped down to the ground. Lenore stepped back. "Here's what's going to happen. Me and Sam are going to gank the son of bitch that nabbed that little girl, and you're going to help us."

She actually had the nerve to laugh at him, shaking her head derisively. "You're chasing a shadow. You think you're the first ones to go after the Mothman? If John Keel couldn't track it down, then I can't imagine two brash hunters will have any luck."

Pocketing the scrap of fabric, Lenore turned her back on him. "Hey, Lenore!" he called after her. She didn't stop to listen, didn't even slow down. "Why does Hilly sleep in the garden?"

It was like he found the lever for the emergency brake. He'd never seen anyone come to a halt so suddenly. He was surprised she didn't pitch forward and roll into a summersault. Then she whirled around and flew back at him as if the very wind was propelling her. "Don't you _ever_ ," she poked his chest, digging her fingernail into his skin until he was sure he would have a crescent shaped bruise, "say that name again. That's my one condition."

It took Dean a second to realize that she wasn't just telling him off, but that she'd also agreed to help. "Deal," he said. "We're going out tonight. Be ready."

* * *

There was no way Dean Winchester should have known about Hilly. Any sign of the girl's presence had been wiped from the house years ago, so he would have had to hear her name from someone here. And Lenore was 99% sure who told him. The other 1% could feel remorse later.

Among the foster kids, Kendra was the best hider. She was patient and intelligent, but she couldn't hide from Lenore. Lenore knew every nook and cranny of the Shepherd Home. This was her game.

She discovered Kendra in the attic. The girl saw her coming, though, and tried to make a run for it by climbing out the window and onto the roof. Lenore caught her foot as she was half hanging over the window frame. Kendra screamed. "Let me go!"

She dug her fingers into the sill in a desperate attempt to not be dragged back into the attic. With one hand, Lenore grabbed Kendra's hair and with the other reached for the first thing she could get her hand on. It was a broken adapter for a vacuum hose. Adjusting her grip, Lenore swung the adapter and bashed Kendra's fingers. She screamed again, this time in pain, and released the window sill, falling to the floor.

Sniveling, Kendra cradled her bruised knuckles to her chest. Lenore dropped the adaptor and placed her foot on Kendra's chest just below her clavicle. Putting a firm amount of pressure on her ribs, Lenore loomed over her. "Kendra." She shook her head in disappointment. "You're smarter than to blab information to people who have no business here. And I know you were the one who told Dean Winchester about Hilly, because nobody else would have the guts to do it. So why stick your neck out when you must have guessed that I would figure out you were the snitch?"

Kendra swallowed whatever pitiful noises were trying to bubble up from her throat. Rage darkened her features. "Because you're a monster. And I want at least one person to know that before I disappear like Dawn."

The barbed words rolled off Lenore like she was made of stone. "You're not doing yourself any favors, Ken. Baseless accusations are a surefire way to get cold food for dinner." She lifted her foot, feeling an ache in her bad leg, and limped out of the attic.

"Screw you!" Kendra shouted.

* * *

Feeling uneasy after his conversation with Lenore that morning, Sam took a closer look around the house. He knew from the beginning that he and Dean weren't exactly welcome guests, but after one day, the tension in the household had skyrocketed. He'd already thoroughly explored the library in his search for books on demonology. He did a walkthrough of the parlor, the living room, and the kitchen. Sam didn't find anything unusual until he went to open the basement door. The knob jiggled under his hand but didn't turn. It was the only door he'd come across that wouldn't budge.

Looking left then right to make sure the coast was clear, he proceeded to pick the lock. Just as he heard the telltale click, approaching voices from the living room had him quickly hiding his tools and abandoning his endeavor. Sam jogged up the stairs to the second floor and out of sight. Several of the kids appeared to be occupying their rooms since their doors were closed. He took advantage of the ones that were empty.

It was simple to tell which rooms were currently in use. Clothes and toys left lying about made the bedrooms look lived in. He also noticed another pattern. Any room that wasn't vacant had a small music box on the nightstand. Venturing into one of the rooms, he picked it up to examine it. When he flipped the lid open, a ballerina on a spring popped into a pirouette. He heard an offkey click. Whoever wound it last must have closed the lid before the last note finished. Sam turned the box upside down looking for the key. On the underside of the music box were two names written neatly in black ink: Kendra and Alisha.

Sam wound the key.

A lullaby began to play, spinning the ballerina on her platform. He let it finish and then replaced the box on the nightstand.

Finally, he came to Lenore's room. Sam was more hesitant about this invasion of privacy than the others. To some degree, the kids were technically guests, although they were more long-term than him and Dean. Lenore lived here, though. This was her home, where she was supposed to feel safe. He stepped over the threshold anyway.

Her room was more personalized than the guest rooms. There was a homemade poster on the wall depicting the billboard from _The Great Gatsby_. Those all-seeing eyes followed him, silently watching this transgression of privacy. Stacks upon stacks of CD cases took up room on her shelf; a CD player had center place on her nightstand with three CD cases stacked precariously on the corner. Looking under the bed, Sam found a music box like those in the other rooms. Pulling it out, he flipped it upside down. Rather than Lenore's name, the name on this box said Henry. It was written in the same handwriting as the other names.

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Sam hurried to replace the music box and darted across the hallway to his room.

At dinner that evening, there was another empty chair besides Dawn's. It was one of the girls, he concluded. He didn't know which one, since he and Dean were never officially introduced to the kids. Whoever she was, no one questioned her absence. The other kids barely looked up from their plates, so he couldn't be sure that they'd even noticed one of their own was missing.

Alice was just as pleasant as she was the other day, chatting amiably with Dean mostly, but she engaged Sam a bit by asking what he went to school for before he left. When she was occupied with talking to Dean, Sam tried his hand at asking the kids a few questions. All he received were stilted answers, like they weren't sure they were supposed to be talking to him. Finally, Lenore caught his eye. She shook her head minutely.

The second Alice Shepherd stood to take her plate to the kitchen, all the kids scattered, leaving Lenore to gather their dishes. "Here," Sam said, "let me help." He took some of the plates from her. Up close, Lenore's hands looked like they were comprised of delicate bird bones. Not for the first time, he wondered what injury caused her to limp. She seemed so breakable, really the cause could have been anything, but… There was something in the way she and her mother danced around each other that soured the contents of his stomach.

He offered to help do the washing up, but Alice shooed both him and Dean away, saying they were guests. What kind of host would she be if she allowed her guests to do the chores?

"Although, I'm not sure where you think you're going, Lenore." Alice's sugary tone took on a hint of bitterness as she addressed her daughter. Sam turned to Lenore, who had managed to fade into the background even though she was one of only four people in the kitchen. She held a plate of leftovers and was in the process of sneaking out the door.

She paused and gave the older woman a significant look. Sam recognized the silent conversation being exchanged, something that he and his brother often did, but not knowing either woman very well, the subtext was impossible to decipher. "I'm taking food to Kendra. I thought I'd see if she's feeling well enough to eat."

Another look was sent between them, and this time Sam thought he could interpret it from the tension lining the planes of Lenore's face. _Go ahead and start an argument in front of them_ , her steely eyes seemed to say. _I dare you._

"Well, that's thoughtful," Alice replied. "Tell Kendra I hope she's feeling better."

With a nod, Lenore slunk out of the kitchen.

* * *

This would end badly. Like an old injury that throbbed before it rained, Lenore could sense when trouble was brewing in the Shepherd Home.

After the sun set, Dean came to retrieve her from her room. She in turn led them to the hidden staircase. That way they were less likely to be seen by one of the kids or by Alice. Now they were outside entering the trail that cut into the woods. She listened with mounting dread as Dean recounted to Sam how he found the nest. A young, brunette girl darting amidst the trees brought him there and then promptly disappeared. He looked to Lenore and said, "How many runaway kids do you got out here?"

"At the moment, just the one." Lenore swallowed. "I don't know who or what you saw." That was a lie. Dean must have hiked past the safety line. She assumed it was Hilly that led Dean to the nest. He was lucky not to run into Tabatha.

The longer they walked, the more Lenore's stomach rebelled. She was getting so nervous that she worried she might make herself sick. The boys were armed to the teeth, strapped with silver bullets, holy water, and everything in between. They tried to outfit her with weapons too, but she'd declined. "I'm not a hunter," she told them.

"Doesn't mean you can't defend yourself if things get hairy," countered Sam. Genuine concern shone in his eyes, and while she appreciated that, it didn't change her stance on carrying weapons. She'd heard one too many stories about previous generations on both sides of the family going wackadoodle, as Alice put it, that the idea of holding a gun felt wrong. Lenore didn't like who she was when any kind of weapon sat heavy in her hands. Even an adapter for a vacuum.

"Do you know how to shoot?" Dean asked, getting down to the point. Lenore shook her head. Another lie. "Then giving her one would make her a liability," he said to his brother.

"Yeah, all right," Sam conceded. To Lenore, he said, "But stay close to us."

Now here they were, walking into the deep, dark landscape that represented evil in fairy tales. They even intended to stray from the path—how very Red Riding Hood. Dean blazed ahead while Sam lingered behind him a bit so he could occasionally glance back at Lenore. Several times, he asked if she wanted to rest for a minute. She knew she looked like someone with a fragile constitution, but she had been through worse than this. Hell, the first day Sam and Dean were here had been worse. Alice had sent her searching for hours without reprieve.

Dean gave her a look which said that he already suspected she was 'the girl' of the group, and accepting Sam's offer of a break would confirm it. Good thing she didn't need a break. Finally, Dean pulled them aside.

"Here it is." He grabbed hold of a piece of fabric tied to a tree branch. "This was where I left the path. I carved an X into the trees I passed. Whatever we do, we don't move forward until somebody's found one of my markers, and we stick together. No Scooby-Doo-ing this shit."

Lenore had been out this far in the past. During the day and at night. She doubted she needed his markers. She kept her mouth shut, though. The less they thought she knew, the better. The key to getting through this alive was to find Dawn, pray she wasn't dead, and convince her not to tell anyone what happened. It would be difficult to do under the watchful eyes of the Winchesters Extraordinaire. She knew that they were already seeing red flags all over the Shepherd Home.

Dean's hand suddenly clamped onto her arm, pulling Lenore to the forefront. "Front and center, sweetheart. Since you know these woods so well." Her knee throbbed, and she glared at Dean. In the dark, it was difficult to tell if he saw or not. He shoved his flashlight into her hands and gave her a nudge forward. Lenore huffed and led them off the path.

The markers Dean left were easy to see. He'd carved big x's into the trees. As they followed this trail of breadcrumbs, Lenore assessed their location. They were beyond the safety line, moving eastward from Trail B. It was out in this area that she'd hidden some of Hilly's and Tabatha's belongings. After about ten minutes, Dean stopped them. He pointed to a tree up ahead. Sam shined a light on it. Carved into the trunk was an arrow.

"That's it."

Lenore gazed skyward along with the beam of the flashlight. High in the branches, the light hit something solid. Dean was right; it looked like a nest, only it was huge. Lenore tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. "You said Dawn wasn't there when you climbed up earlier?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, but I thought maybe it was keeping her somewhere nearby. If we're going to track this thing, then this is a good place to start."

Lenore glanced around nervously. She almost hoped that Dawn was dead. If they found the girl alive, then what would she say to the Winchesters? Sam and Dean began to scope out the area. Lenore stood rooted to the earth, not unlike the trees. They didn't find any signs of unusual activity on the ground. The boys were discussing climbing higher toward the nest when Lenore saw her.

Hilly. She looked more lucid than Lenore had seen her in ages. Thankfully, the brothers had yet to notice her presence. Lenore held a finger to her lips and then pointed to them. Hilly nodded. She motioned for Lenore to follow her. Taking one last look at Sam and Dean, she silently slipped into the shadows.

Once she was safely out of their range, Hilly appeared in front of her. Her eyes were shiny and black in the dull light. Set against her pallid face, Hilly looked more ghoulish now than ever. "I found her!" she whispered. Hilly clasped her hands together. She was so excited that her image shivered.

"Found who?" asked Lenore. She thought Hilly was lucid, but it never hurt to check.

"The girl! Henry said you were looking for a runaway. I found her!"

"Did Tabatha find her too?" she asked warily. Hilly shook her head. Good. That was one less thing to worry about. Lenore stared imploringly into the ghost's eyes. "Take me to the girl, Hilly."

* * *

Sam's neck was craned back, trying to figure out how best to scale the tree. Dean suddenly swore, drawing his attention down to the ground. "What?"

Dean spread his arms. "Notice anything missing?" Sam took stock of their surroundings.

"Lenore." She was gone. Without making a peep, she'd vanished. It reminded him of when they first showed up to the Shepherd Home. Lenore was so light on her feet that she could appear and vanish without making a sound.

"Tell me something shady isn't going on now, Sam." Dean angrily started to pace.

"Wait, stop!" Sam threw his hands out, imploring his brother to halt. He bounced on the balls of his feet. "The ground is damp. There are bound to be footprints. If we don't trample on them, we can track her."

The imprints of her shoes weren't hard to spot. They only had Sam's flashlight, since Dean had passed his off to Lenore. Sam didn't see any other yellow beams roaming the forest. She would have turned it off to avoid detection. He was impressed that she could sneak away and evade them in the dark in the middle of the woods. Lenore may not have been a hunter, but it was evident that she was raised by one.

The sound of moving air whooshed overhead. Sam looked up and saw a shadow soar past them. He glanced over his shoulder to see Dean too had his head tipped back and his gun at the ready. "Was that…?"

"Yep."

Good. They were headed in the right direction.

* * *

Hilly led Lenore deeper into the woods than she would ever dare go by herself. The darkness was impenetrable. It grew between the trees and shrubs so thick that Lenore could feel it caressing her skin. The ghost brought her to a tangle of branches clustered together creating a crude shelter. Hilly pointed to it excitedly. Approaching with caution, Lenore crouched before the opening.

At first, she saw nothing. Just more of the same darkness that clung to everything like spider webs. Then small movements differentiated one shadow from the black canvas. Lenore found that if she listened closely, she could hear quick, shallow breaths.

"Dawn?"

Leaves and twigs crunched at the inhabitant's sudden movement. Lenore could just barely see the girl flinch at the sound of her voice. Heart pounding, she drew back slightly. This was her chance to speak to Dawn without the Winchesters present.

"Dawn, it's Lenore. Everything is going to be okay," she assured her in a gentle tone. " _Miss Alice_ will make sure everything is okay." It felt like cheating to use her mother as a threat, but it was one which never failed. Dawn flinched again and shrank away from the opening.

"Lenore!" a male voice whispered loudly behind her. Damn. The brothers must have noticed her absence not long after she left them. She twisted on the balls of her feet, not rising out of her crouch. She held a finger to her lips and beckoned them closer. Sam rushed over to her while Dean hung back. She saw the skin by the corners of his eyes tighten, and then he dropped his gaze in favor of keeping watch. Dawn was not any more inclined to leave her shelter with the hulking figure of Sam beside Lenore. It wasn't until he mentioned her aunt's name and that he and Dean had been sent by her that Dawn inched forward and eventually accepted his outstretched hand.

The girl that emerged was dirty and skittish. "Can you tell us what happened, Dawn?" Sam asked, trying to engage her. Dawn didn't appear to hear him. At least she wasn't catatonic, or else she wouldn't have responded to them at all.

"Hurry it up, Sammy." Dean was tense. He had his eyes and gun trained on something off to the left. Lenore followed the gun's trajectory. Several yards in the distance was, what appeared to be, the red shine from two bicycle reflectors. Then the reflectors blinked. _Shoot it!_ Lenore wanted to scream. _What are you waiting for?_

Sam drew his gun as well. He pushed Dawn and Lenore behind him. "Go!" he muttered. "Get Dawn out of here." Lenore reached for the girl's hand. This action triggered a response where words had failed.

Dawn jerked her arm to her chest. "No," she croaked. Her throat sounded desert dry.

"Dean," Sam said, not taking his eyes off the creature lying in wait. "Any time now." Neither man took the shot. Feeling her blood sing with fear, Lenore let go of Dawn and snatched Dean's gun from his hand, which was surprisingly easy to do. Leveling the weapon at the two orbs of red eye shine, she fired three times.

She expected to hear the sounds of a wounded animal; the crunch of undergrowth as the creature fell. As the gunshots faded, those two huge eyes merely blinked at them. "You missed!" Dean growled at her. He grabbed her wrist and peeled the weapon from her fingers.

"I don't miss," she said. Ever since her father taught her to shoot, she made sure never to miss her target. Lenore was positive that every bullet struck the creature, it just wasn't affected in the slightest. "We should go," she urged them, tugging on the hem of Sam's shirt. Lenore took Dawn's hand and led a slow retreat. The boys followed, keeping their useless guns trained on what little they could see of the creature. As soon as it was out of sight, they ran.

* * *

For the life of him, Sam couldn't explain what happened. Dean had a somewhat clear shot of the Mothman—if was what it was—and he didn't take it. Then Sam pulled his gun, aimed, and… And he just couldn't do it either. In all of his adult life, Sam had felt many emotions course through him during a hunt, but he couldn't recall a time when he'd been overwhelmed by an emotion that didn't belong to him. Until today.

Sorrow. Heartbreaking, overpowering sorrow had emanated from those eyes. And it felt so _human_. He couldn't bring himself to shoot it. Dean must have been having a similar experience, because otherwise there was no way little five-feet-nothing Lenore could have disarmed him.

Lenore.

Despite possibly coming face-to-face with a living legend, the most shocking event revolved around her. Little Miss I-Don't-Know-How-to-Shoot-a-Gun fired off three perfect rounds, each of which should have hit pay dirt. This, followed by her declaration of 'I don't miss' created a murky image of the girl they first saw pushing an empty wheelchair through town. She seemed a bit shy and awkward but not as though she'd been hardened by the life. Not to mention her constant reminders that she wasn't a hunter. And yet, when push came to shove, she was the one who reacted rather than the two seasoned hunters. Now Sam didn't know what to think of her.

They brought a shell-shocked Dawn back to the Shepherd Home for Wayward Sons and Daughters, thankfully without incident. Whatever they had encountered in the forest must have decided the four humans weren't worth the effort. Lenore took the girl into a bathroom and helped clean her up while he and Dean called Carly Janson to give her the good news. Sam noticed curious eyes as the remaining kids attempted to eavesdrop, although they were quickly shooed away by Alice. She also packed Dawn's belongings and brought her suitcase downstairs. He thought that Alice Shepherd seemed awfully eager to send Dawn back to her aunt, even though she'd blocked their efforts while they were actively searching for the girl. He made no comment on it, though. Sam simply let Dean work his charm on the woman.

When he wasn't dealing with the aftermath of Dawn's discovery, Sam couldn't help being disappointed that he had fallen short in his other goal in coming here. He'd found nothing new on demon deals. He didn't know what his next course of action would be after this, only that he wasn't ready to give up.

"I can't tell you how grateful I am that you helped Lenore locate Dawn." Alice Shepherd insisted on giving them a hand packing their bags into the Impala. "Poor girl might have died out there if the three of you didn't trek as far into the woods as you did." Behind her back, he and Dean exchanged a look. They had an unspoken deal not to tell Alice about the Mothman. He couldn't pinpoint who made that decision or when they all agreed to it, but there was something about the woman Sam didn't trust. It was the same reason that they snuck out in the middle of the night to track down the nest without notifying Alice.

She shut the back door on the driver's side and turned around. Dean plastered a winning smile on his face. "Thanks, Mrs. Shepherd," he said. "We'll take it from here."

"Of course. Now, don't be strangers, you two. Come back any time you like."

"We will," Sam assured her. Although, hopefully they wouldn't be coming back any time soon.

* * *

Lenore's family was more than a little wackadoodle. Her family lived in a house of cards; if one card was removed, the whole thing would crumble. Her father was a voracious hunter who had become so fanatical that even his family—the Shepherds who lived and breathed the hunting life—shunned him. Her mother buried anger and resentment so deeply in her heart that it sprouted seedlings; it grew inside her like weeds, creeping into the parts of her heart which were once tender and compassionate. The Shepherd Home for Wayward Sons and Daughters started with the noblest of intentions but eventually became a breeding ground for monsters.

And this type of monster was difficult to vanquish. If Dawn told the Winchesters what she saw transpire, the house of cards would topple, crushing all the foster kids beneath the rubble. This wasn't a monster you could tackle with brute force.

There were certain kids that Alice liked to pick on. It was usually one of the girls. Lenore watched her mom curb her hatred and direct it only at the orphaned ones. The kids that had no one. No one to look for them, no one to save them. Kids like Kendra.

When Lenore was younger, there was precious little she could do to save them. Logically, she knew this, but that didn't make her feel any less guilt for doing nothing. No less responsible. It wasn't until she was older that she realized she was no longer powerless. If she punished the kids for their minor transgressions, then it would spare them from Alice. Lenore might beat a child bloody, but at least they wouldn't be dead. They wouldn't end up in the garden with Hilly and Tabatha. Or in the basement with Henry.

Was it concerning that Lenore found some sick satisfaction in hurting these kids? Yes, it worried her. Lenore was convinced that she inherited both of her parents' demons. Metaphorically, of course. But that didn't mean she couldn't control them.

Alice couldn't control her demon. She used to be smart about which of the children she singled out for abuse. She observed the plot bubble of protection, only going after the ones with no ties left. However, something was happening in Alice Shepherd. All Lenore could do was watch as her mother slowly unraveled.

Dawn Gellar should have been safe inside the plot bubble of protection. She had parents coming back for her, and apparently an aunt who was quite invested in her life. Alice should have known better, except everything Dawn did got under Alice's skin. Lenore saw each miniscule action by Dawn pluck a hair from her mother's arm. The sensation was irritating, but it was an irritant easily ignored at first. But like having arm hairs plucked, the pain and annoyance grew the longer it went on. The day that Dawn was dusting the second-floor banister, Alice let her demon off its leash.

"What are you doing?" Alice demanded. She marched up to Dawn and grabbed her wrist where she held the rag. "You're not using the right cleaning solution. Look, you're just rubbing the dirt in circles!" The raised voice of their caretaker made the other children pause in their chores. They cautiously looked up the stairs and around corners. Lenore ceased washing windows and exited one of the empty guest rooms to investigate the commotion.

Dawn Gellar reminded Lenore of Tabatha. Strong-willed and resistant to being bullied by a bitter adult. They were almost the same age, too. Every time Dawn talked back to Alice, Lenore had to consciously stop herself from wincing. Seeing her mom's fingers curled in a vice around Dawn's wrist gave her a start. She'd never seen Alice lay a hand on the protected ones. Her whole body tensed, unsure what to do now that the status quo was being challenged.

"It doesn't have to be perfect," Dawn retorted. From the hallway, Lenore saw the girl tug on her arm. In response, Alice's knuckles constricted, turning white. "Let go," she said with a scowl. "You're hurting me!"

"Whine, whine, whine. That's all you ever do!" Alice raised her other arm and backhanded Dawn. "I'll give you something to complain about."

Before she knew what she was doing, Lenore's legs had carried her to the stairwell. She caught her mom's hand as it came down to deliver another blow to the thirteen-year-old. Dawn fell to the floor the instant Alice released her. The expression on Alice's face was one Lenore had never witnessed. She could see her mother's sanity clinging by a thread. "Have you lost your mind?" she hissed. "People are going to come looking for her! What do you think you're doing?"

Unhinged rage was replaced by incredulity. When was the last time Lenore had interfered with her mom's doings? When was the last time she'd even given her mom attitude? She couldn't remember. Alice's upper lip curled. "Have I lost _my_ mind?" she repeated. Her fist twisted in the fabric of Lenore's shirt pulling her closer to her mother. "I am instilling some much-needed discipline in these young ones. Discipline their parents were too neglectful to exercise themselves. What are _you_ doing, Lenore?" She shook her causing her neck to crack. "You are modeling disrespect. You forget that they look up to you, dear."

Lenore barely had time to flinch as Alice's left hand swung, making contact on the back of her head. Five punches in quick succession had Lenore seeing stars. Alice released her daughter with a push. She shouldn't have stumbled far, but there were still black spots clouding her vision. Lenore tried to catch herself on the rail, but her hand, sweaty from exertion and fear, slipped. Staggering, tripping, and then falling. Head over heels she tumbled down the spiral staircase all the way to the bottom.

The room spun and her ears rang loudly. Lenore saw a blurry vision of Dawn Gellar staring between the rails, horror painted on her face. Then everything went black.

When she came to, Lenore was lying on the couch in the living room. The TV was playing an episode of _Full House_ with the volume on low. Her great-grandmother's afghan was draped over her. Lenore reached back, wincing as she felt the stitches on the back of her head. Gritting her teeth, she started to sit up when a bright flash of pain exploded from her right knee and radiated outward. Gasping, she fell onto her back again. Breathing evening, she waited for the pain to diminish to a dull throb.

It was only then that she realized there was someone else in the room with her.

Seated in the recliner was Dawn. Lenore assumed that she was the one who turned on the television, but the girl wasn't paying any attention to the show. Her eyes were riveted to Lenore. "Dawn," she murmured, her voice raspy. The girl's bottom lip trembled. There was none of that fierceness she'd seen from Dawn when she arrived. This was the first time Lenore saw her look scared. "It's okay."

The sound of footsteps from another room spooked Dawn. She sat forward in the chair, her legs poised to run.

"No one's going to harm you," Lenore whispered to her. "You're safe, I promise." She swallowed. "Don't be scared, Dawn."

The girl jumped silently out of the recliner. With trembling hands, she grabbed her knapsack, slinging it over her shoulder. "I've got to get out of here!" she whimpered. "I can't stay!"

"Dawn," Lenore raised her voice slightly, but that only made Dawn tie her shoes faster.

"You're all right," Dawn muttered. "That's all I needed to know."

"Don't go, Dawn. She can't hurt you, I swear."

It was no use. Nothing she said could stop Dawn from fleeing.

And then the Winchesters rolled into town. But it wasn't over just yet.

Lenore sat a bedraggled Dawn on the toilet seat. She half-filled the bathtub with warm water. Lenore wet a washcloth, and slowly began to wipe away the dirt and grime from Dawn Gellar. The poor girl remained silent as a statue. Lenore hoped this was indicative of her cooperation. Sam and Dean were waiting for her so they could return her to her aunt, but before that happened, Lenore had to ensure everyone's safety.

She draped a towel over Dawn's shoulders, filled a plastic cup with water from the tub, and poured it over Dawn's brown hair. Gradually, life began to reenter her eyes, and she looked upon Lenore with more recognition than before. Taking this as a good sign, she chose that moment to speak.

"If you tell anyone what happened here," she said gently, looking directly into Dawn's eyes, "Miss Alice will kill them all." She gave it a moment to let that sink in.

She didn't ask if Dawn understood. She could see the comprehension in her eyes.

Dawn's throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Did you get in trouble?" she croaked. "After I ran away?" Rather than answering, Lenore filled a Dixie cup with water and gave it to Dawn. They had been giving her water in small portions ever since they returned. The way Dawn guzzled from the Dixie cup, Lenore was sure that she would have made herself sick had they given her a full water bottle. She cleaned Dawn in silence for a few minutes. Lenore left the room once and came back with clean clothes.

Dawn cleared her throat.

"You were the first person I liked when my mom and dad left me here. It was for a really stupid reason." She gave Lenore a shy smile.

"Liking me for any reason was stupid," she replied. Her blunt response did not deter Dawn.

"I liked your name," Dawn told her and lifted her feet for Lenore to remove her filthy socks. "Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore'."

Lenore snorted. "Like I've never heard that one." Truthfully, she didn't hear it often anymore. It was mostly when she was in school, especially in Lit class when they had a unit on Poe. Whenever she walked past her classmates in the halls, she was followed by a chorus of 'Nevermore!'. Lucky for her, not many of the children at the Shepherd Home read Poe.

"I always felt bad for the narrator," Dawn said sadly. "The raven never said anything different, but he talked to it anyway. He knew what it would say, so he was only torturing himself." She stood on shaky feet, leaning heavily against the sink, allowing Lenore to unbutton her jeans and slide them down her legs. "I had no one to talk to while I was gone. Nothing to do but think. I kind of felt like that guy in the poem."

"Oh?" Lenore said distractedly. To minimize the girl's embarrassment, she quickly redressed the lower half of her body in clean underwear and pants. Although, Dawn didn't seem all that embarrassed to begin with. "Did the Mothman say nothing but nevermore?"

"No. It never said anything." Dawn shivered and held her arms up for Lenore to remove her shirt. "But I kept thinking about something I already knew the answer to, and it felt like torture." Lenore accidentally met her gaze as she pulled the clean shirt over Dawn's midriff. "You saved me from your mom, even though she hit you and pushed you down the stairs. Even though there was no one to save you." She swallowed, probably needing another small glass of water. "Are you ever going to leave here, Lenore?"

She paused. That was not the question she assumed would occupy Dawn's mind. She expected the girl to think about her parents and her own escape. But the question that weighed heavily on her was about Lenore's welfare. She roughly finished dressing Dawn and refilled the Dixie cup for her. "You're right, Dawn," she said past the thick knot in her throat. "You already know the answer."

Lenore supported her weight and hurried her out of the bathroom, eager to get away. "It's okay," Dawn whispered. "I won't tell. Just keep everyone safe."

* * *

Dawn told them very little about her experience at the Shepherd Home. Dean made no secret of being frustrated with the girl, acting short and testy with her. Sam had to remind him that she had just received the news that her parents were dead. A little patience was needed.

They had to stop for the night at a motel on their way to Carly Janson's house. Sam felt a pang in his chest at the sight of her sitting on the bed alone in her single room. She looked very small and not at all like the vibrant girl Carly had shown them in photos.

The following morning, Sam woke with swollen and itchy eyes. Dean didn't look any better. In fact, his eyes were so swollen that he could barely open them. He ended up driving the Impala while Dean was relegated to the passenger seat. Dawn had it the worst, though. She was all but blind and had to be led to the car after they checked out of the motel.

"I think that flying monkey was radioactive," Dean grumbled and wiped at his puffy eyes.

"It's probably just conjunctivitis."

"Gesundheit."

Sam gave him the best bitch face he could manage with swollen eyes and not looking away from the road. "It's pink eye. That was a common side effect afflicting people who saw Mothman back in the 60s."

"Monsters are supposed to eat you!" Dean sputtered. "Since when do they give you pink eye? I haven't had pink eye since the fourth grade."

"Dude, I just told you since when. There was a whole slew of Mothman sightings in West Virginia in the mid-1960s."

"You know what I mean," he snapped. "Just shut up and drive, Sam."

A giggle from the backseat made Sam smile.

* * *

Carly Janson tried convincing them to stay for dinner, but Sam could tell that his brother was more than ready to hit the road. He politely declined for the both of them and said their goodbyes. He had one foot out the door when he felt someone tug at his suit jacket. Looking down, he saw Dawn Gellar.

In the two and a half days it took them to drive to Carly's house, the swelling around their eyes had all but disappeared. He could clearly see the mixture of light and sorrow in her expression. She held her hands behind her back and smiled shyly at him. "This is for you."

She brought her hidden hands out in front of her and presented him with a book. "Oh, um… Thank you."

"It's from Lenore," she explained.

There was no title on the brown leather cover. The edges of the pages were jagged and weathered. He flipped it open to the title page. Printed in faded black ink were the words _A Complete Account of Transactions between Man and Non-Human Entities: The Devil Is in the Details_.

His gaze was drawn down to a handwritten note below the title: _Saw the other books on your bedside table. You missed this one. Good luck. -LS_

Unsure what to say or how to thank someone who was now hundreds of miles away, Sam said, "Dawn, I know you haven't really wanted to talk about the creature that took you, but anything you can tell me would be immensely helpful for future cases. Anything at all."

She chewed on her lip in consideration. After a minute, she said, "You know how something deep inside you just knows when an animal or something else could kill you if it really wanted? This thing gave me that feeling. It was dangerous, but after the first night, I knew it wasn't going to hurt me."

Sam frowned. "How?"

"Because it tried to feed me. It brought me raw meat and dirty water. And then, when I said I was afraid of heights, it brought me somewhere else." She paused. "I think… I think maybe it knew you guys were coming to rescue me." Dawn blushed. "Sorry, that sounds stupid. I already told Lenore I didn't know anything useful. Just what I saw, and I didn't see very much at all."

He nodded. "Thanks, Dawn. Don't worry about it." Sam tucked the book inside his jacket. "And thanks for delivering this."

As soon as he was in the car, Dean took off. When he leaned over to turn on the cassette player, he saw the corner of the book peeking out of Sam's jacket. "What's that?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly and showed him the blank cover. "It's from Lenore Shepherd. I guess she noticed how much time I spent in their library." Dean smirked.

"Aw, nerds in love."

"Hey, just because you struck out with her doesn't mean you have to rag on me."

"I did not _strike out_. Weird chicks just aren't my type."

With his brother distracted, Sam slipped the book under the seat. Before the year was at its end, Lenore's book would be taken out and perused only three more times. Then Sam would put it back under the seat where it would remain even after Dean Winchester was gone.


End file.
